THE 


STORY  OF  CYRIL  RIVERS, 


WHAT  HE  LEARNED  AT  COLLEGE. 


'LO,  THIS  IS  THE  MAX  THAT  MADE  NOT  GOD  HIS  STRENGTH:' 


PUBLISHED  BY 

WARREN     &    BLAKESLEE, 

No.  164  TREMONT  STREET,  BOSTON. 


Entered,  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1869,  by 
THE  AMERICAN  TRACT  SOCIETY, 

lu  the  Clerk's  Office  of  the  District  Court  of  the  District  of  Massa- 
chusetts. 


BOSTON  : 
Stereotyped  and  Printed  by  Rand,  Avery,  &  Frye. 


CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER   I. 
A  GLAD  FATHER,  YET  A  FOOLISH  SON 5 

CHAPTER   H. 
THE  THCE  AND  THE  DECEITFUL  WITNESS        ....      21 

CHAPTER  LH. 
THE  POPULAR  MAN 40 

CHAPTER   IV. 
THE  UNWILLING  BOATMAN 59 

CHAPTER   V. 
THE  MISSION  SCHOOL 83 

CHAPTER   VI. 
THE  READY  WHITER 109 

CHAPTER   VH. 
PLEASURE  WON  AND  HONOR  LOST  .    133 


CHAPTER   VHI. 
TOM  AND  HIS  TEACHER 147 

CHAPTER  IX. 
TOM'S  SUCCESS 163 

CHAPTER   X. 
THE  PROMENADE  CONCERT 181 


2133678 


4  CONTENTS. 

CHAPTER   XI. 
THE  UNFAITHFUL  STEWARD 212 

CHAPTER  XH. 
ALONE  IN  THE  LIBRARY 238 

CHAPTER   Xm. 
ABOUT  DRESS 258 

CHAPTER   XTV. 
THE  EXHIBITION 274 

CHAPTER  XV. 
THE  DOUBLE  Loss 200 

CHAPTER  XVI. 
THE  FALLEN  TREE 306 

CHAPTER  XVII. 
TOM'S  GRIEF  AND  ins  COMFORT 320 

CHAPTER  XVHI. 
THE  LESSON  LEARNED 340 

CHAPTER  XIX. 
A  LITTLE  MORE  ABOUT  TOM 363 


THE  STORY  OP  CYRIL  RIVERS. 


CHAPTER    I. 

A   GLAD    FATHER,    YET    A    FOOLISH    SON. 

"The  folly  of  fools  is  deceit." 

'YRIL  RIVERS'  father  is  a 
happy  man.  It  is  Commencement 
week  at  Eaton ;  and  he  has  brought 
his  promising  only  son  to  be  entered 
as  a  student  in  the  college  from  which 
he  himself  graduated  twenty  years  ago.  It 
seems  a  delightful  thing  to  him  to  be  setting 
the  feet  of  his  darling  in  the  paths  that  his  own 
found  so  pleasant  long  ago.  With  the  utmost 
enjoyment  he  has  been  leading  the  boy  about, 
showing  him  the  old  town  so  soon  to  become 
familiar,  engaging  him  a  room,  making  arrange- 


G  THE  STORY  OF- CYRIL   HI \' Kit*. 

mcnts  for  his  future  comfort,  and  in  the  pride 
of  his  honest  heart  introducing  him  to  members 
of  the  faculty  and  to  old  friends.  But  now  he 
has  been  forced  to  leave  the  lad  in  the  examina- 
tion-hall ;  so,  while  the  paternal  shadow  no 
longer  casts  him  into  the  background,  so  that 
we  could  only  discern  Cyril  the  quiet,  well- 
mannered  son,  let  us  run  in  and  take  a  look  at 
Cyril  the  individual. 

There  are  so  many  youths  scattered  about  at 
the  little  tables,  and  they  look  so  much  alike 
with  their  black  coats  and  grave  faces,  you  may 
think  it  will  be  difficult  to  find  him  out.  But 
he  has  enough  to  distinguish  him  in  a  crowd  of 
compeers,  even  to  eyes  less  partial  than  his 
father's.  Tutor  Watchful,  who  has  a  good 
memory  for  names  and  faces,  can  show  us 
where  he  sits.  This  worthy  man  has  mentally 
assorted  those  present  into  three  sets.  First  — 
in  his  sympathies,  at  least  —  there  are  the 
"  poor  fellows,"  —  men  who  have  come  here, 
some  to  work  with  one  hand  for  the  furnishing 

o 

of  their  brains,  and  with  the  other  for  daily 
bread  ;  somo  expecting  to  receive  help  from  the 


A   GLAD  FATHER.  1 

faculty ;  some  with  the  painful  remembrance 
of  a  widowed  mother  or  fatherless  sisters  mak- 
ing daily  sacrifices  to  help  them  gain  their 
education  ;  —  quiet,  plain  men,  whom  poverty 
leads  along  a  straight  path,  out  of  which  she 
has  cleared  the  diversions  so  tempting  to  youth, 
and  in  which  glimpses  of  sunshine  are  only  to 
be  reached  by  climbing  hard  hills.  Next  are 
those  more  fortunate  in  circumstances,  if  not  in 
nature  and  training,  —  young  men  bred  up  to 
intelligence  and  good  morals,  with  tastes  too 
refined  for  excess,  and  with  enough  of  correct 

'  O 

ambition  to  keep  them  from  indolence  ;  yet 
perhaps  —  so  the  tutor  sometimes  fancies  —  too 
tenderly  reared,  too  well  used  to  paths  of  life 
ready  smoothed  for  their  feet,  to  be  prepared 
for  genuine  labor  and  manly  self-denial.  Last, 
there  are  the  noisy  fellows,  riotously  inclined, 
who  neither  understand  the  purposes  of  study 
nor  the  wisdom  of  obedience,  nor  will  try  to 
find  them  out:  they  are,  for  the  most  part, 
abundantly  supplied  with  money,  —  for  what 
poor  man  could  afford  to  send  here  sons  of  so 
little  promise  as  scholars?  —  and  their  self- 


8  THE  STORY  OF  CYRIL  RIVERS. 

indulgent,  turbulent  course  will  be  as  trouble- 

D  ' 

si  tine  to  their  teachers  and  as  unprofitable  to 
themselves  as  they  can  contrive  to  make  it.  It 
chances  that  there  arc  three  young  men,  very 
fair  representatives  of  these  three  classes,  sit- 
ting together  near  the  end  of  the  hall ;  and  the 

o        o 

central  one  is  Cyril  Rivers. 

He  is  a  slender  youth  of  seventeen,  sits 
gracefully  at  his  desk,  and  is  rapidly  writing  out 
his  task  in  translation.  His  forehead  is  high, 
and  eyes  bright ;  and  though  the  other  features 
are  somewhat  small  in  proportion,  they  are  reg- 
ular and  pleasing.  His  face  shows  amiability 
and  intellect.  It  testifies  to  its  owner's  good 
ancestry  ;  for  it  has  no  roughness  where  passion 
could  hang  a  scowl,  and  no  weak  outlines  where 
sensuality  might  set  its  seal.  His  easy  manner, 
his  correct  language  and  pleasant  voice,  as  he 
speaks  to  the  tutor,  are  evidences  of  gentle 
breeding.  His  dress  is  a  gentleman's,  neat  and 
suitable,  but  very  simple.  He  wears  neither 
stud  nor  scarf-pin,  nor  any  other  watch-guard 
than  a  black  ribbon.  He  would  have  had  no 
watch,  but  that  his  mother,  thinking  he  would 


A    GLAD  FATTIER.  9 

need  it  now  more  than  she,  had  given  him  hers. 
For  Cyril's  father  is  only  a  salaried  man,  a 
minister  in  the  small  town  of  Shoreville ;  and 
the  care  of  his  children  taxes  his  small  income 
to  its  utmost.. 

It  is  plain  that  Cyril  has  come  to  the  exami- 
nation well  prepared ;  for  while  many  a  face  is 
pale  with  anxiety,  or  red  with  perplexity,  his 
is  composed  and  confident.  He  goes  through 
the  tasks  given  him  without  any  hesitation, 
and  is  at  leisure  to  look  about  him  with  in- 
terested eyes  upon  his  neighbors  and  future 
classmates.  If  any  of  them  notice  the  easy 
manner  in  which  he  is  going  through  the  ex- 
amination, they  call  him  a  fortunate  fellow. 
Without  doubt  he  is  fortunate.  If  we  look  all 
over  the  room  we  can  not  find  another  of  the 
one  hundred  there  with  brighter  prospects. 
He  has  strength,  talent,  and  opportunity. 
He  is  not  rich;  but  what  is  that  to  one  who 
has  grown  up  now,  and  does  not  care  for  toys  ? 
He  does  not  want  the  pretty  cane  that  pleases 
one  classmate,  nor  the  costly  beaver  and  gor- 
geous necktie  that  delight  another.  Early  cul- 


10  THE  STORY  OF  CYRIL   RIVERS. 

tare  has  opened  his  eyes  to  sec  the  greater 
above  the  lesser  good.  He  lias  enough  to  buy 
the  keys  of  wisdom,  —  books  and  teaching, — 
the  means  to  make  of  his  own  mind  a  source 
of  treasure,  —  a  treasure  itself,  a  polished 
diamond,  many-sided,  full  of  light,  a  tool  that 
Avill  cut  its  way  to  any  desired  possession.  He 
stands  upon  a  vantage  ground  over  some  of  his 
fellows ;  for  he  knows  what  it  means,  —  the  use 
he  is  to  make  of  the  four  years  that  lie  before 
him.  It  elates  him  to  grasp  in  anticipation  the 
power  they  will  furnish  him.  Enlightened  love 
shields  his  life  from  every  care  while  it  grows, 
and  supplies  it  laboriously  with  every  needful 
enriching  to  develop  it  to  a  noble  and  fruitful 
maturity.  •  What  more  could  a  young  man 
ask,  except  the  grace  of  God,  to  help  him 
make  full  use  of  such  gifts  ? 

And  that  last  and  greatest  need  Cyril  is  not 
ignorant  of.  Well  might  it  put  the  crown  upon 
his  father's  joy  and  pride,  that  the  boy,  as  he 
grew  up,  had  yielded  to  long  and  faithful  in- 
struction, and  to  his  own  clear  perception  of 
the  beautiful  and  good,  and  early  enrolled  him- 


A    GLAD  FATHER.  11 

self  among  the  professed  disciples  of  the  Lord. 
If  the  act  had  been  one  of  the  mind  more  than 
of  the  heart,  if  the  lad  had  been  so  shielded 
from  temptation  by  a  good  disposition  and  care- 
ful training  that  he  had  not  yet  begun  to  dis- 
cover his  unlikeness  to  the  great  Model  he 
admired  or  the  extremity  of  his  weakness  and 
need,  —  that  only  his  heavenly  Father  knew. 
He  had  walked  consistently  in  the  sight  of  his 
father's  church  these  two  years :  no  wonder 
that  neither  of  his  fond  parents  saw  reason 
now  to  fear  for  his  principles. 

I  sometimes  think  how  little  those  words 
mean — "in  good  and  regular  standing"  — 
with  which  we  receive  and  dismiss  members 
from  one  church  to  another.  We  bow  the 
head  in  prayer,  we  sit  together  at  the  com- 
munion-table, Sabbath  after  Sabbath,  with 
brothers  and  sisters,  all  alike  in  good  and  regu- 
lar standing  to  our  view.  But  God  walks 
among  the  trees  in  his  garden  ;  and,  though  all 
rise  tall  and  fair  to  mortal  eyes,  he  knows 
which  are  undermined  with  rottenness  at  heart 
or  root.  With  him  they  are  not  all  in  good 


12  THE  STORY  OF  CYRIL   RIVERS. 

and  regular  standing.  Some  day  there  is  a 
sudden  rra^h  that  startles  the  little  community. 
A  whisper  of  dismay  runs  through  it.  Some 
loud-crying  sin  lias  been  discovered,  some 
brother  has  fallen.  There  is  a  sorrowful  won- 
dering over  him,  and  then  his  name  is  dropped 
in  silence.  He  is  in  good  and  regular  standing 
no  more.  But  his  downfall  was  not  when  we 
saw  it :  it  was  long,  long  before,  when  he 
suffered  a  little,  just  a  little  unsoundness,  a 
little  covetousness,  a  little  vanity,  a  little  false- 
hood, unrebuked,  to  dwell  hidden  in  his  heart. 

But  I  have  wandered  from  the  examination. 
We  have  looked  long  enough  at  Cyril :  let  us 
glance  at  his  neighbors.  Upon  his  right  sits 
a  sturdy  fellow,  —  broad-shouldered,  large- 
headed,  with  hands  that  seem  more  accustomed 
to  a  plow-handle  than  a  pen.  He  has  hard, 
homely,  knotty  features ;  and  they  look  more 
knotted  and  twisted  than  usual  as  he  labors 
over  the  page  of  Greek  before  him.  He  is  a 
farmer's  son,  from  the  backwoods  of  Maine. 
lie  is  older  than  Cyril,  being  twenty-one.  No 
one  knows  what  induced  him  to  take  his  little 


A   GLAD  FATHER.  13 

capital  of  one  or  two  thousand  dollars  to  invest 
it  all,  not  in  land  or  shop,  but  in  himself.  But 
be  sure  he  understands  what  he  is  about,  and 
will  not  fail  of  his  returns.  His  preparation 
has  been  hasty  and  poor ;  but  he  has  no  time  to 
spare,  and  is  resolved  to  force  his  way  in  upon 
it  if  possible.  Cyril  perceives  that  he  is  hard 
put  to  it,  and  looks  upon  him  with  kindly  con- 
cern ;  but  his  neighbor  being  altogether  too 
much  absorbed  to  perceive  that,  he  soon  turns 
his  attention  elsewhere. 

Upon  his  left,  there  is  another  in  trouble, 
and  bearing  it  less  wisely.  It  is  Tom  Raddon, 
the  son  of  a  San  Francisco  millionaire.  Two 
or  three  years  of  schooling  in  the  Eastern 
States  have  somewhat  tamed  the  barbarism  he 
brought  from  home  ;  but  he  may  still  be  recog- 
nized as  the  offspring  of  a  community  very 
different  from  the  one  in  which  we  find  him. 
He  is  tall,  and  has  dark,  heavy,  and  somewhat 
scowling  features.  He  is  as  gorgeously  attired 
as  a  young  man  can  contrive  to  be,  but  he  is 
no  dandy.  He  has  a  powerful  mind,  but  the 
want  of  early  training  hinders  and  perverts  its 


14  THE  STORY  OF  CYltlL   RIVEIiS. 

action.  He  lias  a  wonderful  moral  force  of 
will  and  courage,  but  he  can  not  govern  it ; 
and  ignorant  impulses,  generous  or  selfish, 
drive  him  hither  and  thither  at  their  pleasure. 
He  is  not  without  an  aim  in  life  :  he  is  to  be  a 
politician,  and  some  day  to  grasp  and  wield  the 
power  in  his  native  State.  It  was  his  father's 
plan.  "  I  have  got  money,"  the  poor  man 
said :  "  he  shall  have  station  and  power.  He 
is  a  promising  boy ;  he  has  got  a  will  of  his 
own ;  he  stands  six  feet  three  inches  high ;  he 
has  got  a  thundering  voice  and  a  fierce  temper. 
I  will  send  him  to  the  East  to  be  educated. 
He  shall  learn  to  make  speeches,  to  quote 
Latin  and  precedents  and  the  Constitution,  to 
talk  about  Solon  and  Socrates  and  such  names ; 
and  then  let  him  come  home,  and  begin  to 
practice  law  here,  and  make  himself  heard. 
1  have  got  money  to  back  him  for  any  office, 
cost  what  it  may.  He's  sure  to  succeed.  I 
shall  see  him  in  Congress  some  day,  and  per- 
haps in  the  White  House.  He  stands  as  good 
a  chance  to  be  president  as  anybody." 

Nevertheless,  the  examination  deals  severely 


A    GLAD  FATHER.  15 

with  this  future  ruler  ;  and  Cyril  sees  him  scowl 
and  hears  him  mutter  oaths  over  his  work. 
We  can  not  blame  him  for  them  as  we  might 
another,  for  they  were  among  the  first  words 
he  learned  to  speak.  Cyril  is  sorry,  and  his 
good  taste  is  offended ;  but  he  is  not  shocked, 
for  such  expressions  of  vexation  are  so  very 
frequent  in  school  and  at  play  that  he  has  be- 
come sadly  accustomed  to  them.  At  last,  how- 
ever, Tom  looks  up,  and  meets  his  friendly  gaze, 
and  sees  his  finished  paper.  Then  there  is 
some  kind  of  swift  communication  between  the 
two.  Cyril  casts  a  furtive  glance  round  the 
room  at  the  busy  examiners,  and  in  a  minute 
has  transferred  Tom's  paper  to  his  desk. 
There  is  a  whispered  explanation  of  this  line, 
and  that,  and  the  other ;  and  the  rough  face 
grows  smooth,  and  Tom  can  not  refrain  a  little 
growl  of  relief  and  satisfaction  as  he  takes 
back  his  paper  and  proceeds  with-  his  work. 
As  the  day  wears  on,  there  is  occasion  to  repeat 
these  maneuvers  a  great  many  times,  more  or 
less  flagrantly.  Sometimes  a  whispered  word 
is  all ;  sometimes  there  is  a  whole  problem 


16  THE  STORY  OF  CYRIL  RIVERS. 

worked  out  on  Cyril's  desk,  and  transferred  to 
his  neighbor's.  The  reality  of  what  he  was 
doing  seemed  not  to  occur  to  Cyril:  he  had 
given  such  help,  and  seen  it  given,  so  many 
times  from  boyhood  up,  the  general  opinion 
among  his  associates  never  blaming,  often  up- 
holding the  deed  as  amiable  and  kind.  He 
could  not  tell  how  small  he  was  when  his 
mother  had  taught  him  the  terrible  words 
about  "  whosoever  inaketh  a  lie  ; "  but  he  did 
not  stop  to  consider  whether  he  could  be 
charged  Avith  such  a  sin  in  this  easy,  good- 
natured  little  action.  Yet  what  else  but 
"  making  lies "  was  he  doing  in  putting  his 
knowledge  upon  Tom's  papers  ?  One  by  one 
they  went  into  the  professor's  hands,  bearing 
their  false  testimony.  They  differed  from  the 
falsehoods  we  are  quickest  to  condemn,  as  hav- 
ing no  malicious  motive  ;  but  they  were  just 
as  baneful  in  their  nature,  inflicting  both  upon 
the  fabricator  and  the  adopter  an  injury  whose 
tangling  threads  of  consequence  ran  far  on  into 
the  future,  and  filled  it  with  snares  and  traps 
of  stumbling. 


A   GLAD  FATHER.  17 

The  day,  so  trying  to  many,  wears  away  at 
last.  Toward  six  o'clock  all  sit  in  suspense, 
waiting  for  the  distribution  of  the  blue  and 
white  papers  which  make  known  its  results. 
There  are  many  who  were  sanguine  this  morn- 
ning  who  are  very  downcast  now,  and  many 
who  have  been  patient  and  composed  who  are 
becoming  nervous.  Cyril  suffers  no  anxiety, 
but  he  is  tired,  and  desirous  to  get  away.  Tom 
Raddon  is  very  restless,  bites  his  nails,  and 
fidgets  in  his  chair,  and  mutters  his  weariness 
and  suspense  to  his  neighbor.  The  Maine  man 
is  as  resolute-looking  as  ever,  though  a  shade 
paler  than  this  morning :  if  he  has  good  reason 
for  discouragement,  he  will  not  show  it  in  his 
face.  And  now  the  grave  tutor  comes  toward 
these  three,  dealing  joy  with  his  white  papers 
and  regret  with  the  blue.  There  is  one  of  the 
latter  for  John  Seelye,  the  Maine  man  ;  and  it 
is  sadly  freighted  with  conditions,  having, 
moreover,  written  upon  it  the  advice  from 
the  faculty  that  he  had  better  not  attempt  the 
examination  again  without  another  year's  pre- 
paration. His  case  looks  very  desperate,  but 


18  THE  STORY  OF  CYRIL  RIVERS. 

his  mind  is  made  up  not  to  take  that  advice. 
He  means  to  have  another  trial  at  the  end  of 
the  two  months'  vacation. 

Both  for  Cyril  and  Tom,  there  are  certifi- 
cates of  their  having  passed  the  examination 
satisfactorily.  Tom  is  so  overcome  with 
delight  at  his  good  fortune,  that  he  almost 
jumps  out  of  his  seat  with  joy,  and  can  hardly 
suppress  the  profane  exclamation  of  astonish- 
ment that  rises  to  his  lips. 

And  now  the  crowd  begins  to  disperse. 
There  are  mutual  congratulations  among  the 
fortunate  ones,  and  words  of  friendly  encour- 
agement for  those  who  have  been  less  success- 
ful. Cyril  lingers  a  moment  by  the  table 
where  John  Seelye  still  sits,  somehow  inter- 
ested in  him,  and  curious  to  know  the  result 
of  his  day's  experiences.  He  makes  some 
little  remark  to  him,  and  is  answered  pleasantly ; 
but  JoLn  evidently  is  not  inclined  to  enter  into 
conversation,  and  says  he  is  waiting  to  speak 
to  the  professors,  so  Cyril  passes  on.  Tom 
Raddon  keeps  close  beside,  and,  when  they  are 
fairly  outside  the  door,  seizes  his  hand,  and 
shakes  it  heartily. 


A   GLAD  FATHER.  19 

"  I'm  your  friend  for  life ! "  he  cries,  sub- 
limely certain  that  the  announcement  must  be 
glorious  news  for  Cyril.  "  I'd  no  idea  of  get- 
ting in  without  four  or  five  conditions !  It's 
the  bulliest  news  to  send  to  my  father  !  it's  as 
good  as  an  extra  hundred  dollars  a  year  for 
me  ;  and  it's  all  your  doing !  " 

Cyril  modestly  disclaimed  so  much  credit. 
He  was  pleased  with  the  show  of  gratitude, 
but  would  willingly  have  withdrawn  liis  hand 
from  the  strong  grasp  that  held  it.  He  dearly 
liked  to  win  golden  opinions  from  all  sorts  of 
men ;  but  this  was  not  exactly  the  fellow  he 
wanted  claiming  ardent  friendship  with  him 
just  now.  He  saw  men 'more  of  his  own 
kind  near  at  hand.;  and  he  wanted  a  chance 
to  make  acquaintance  with  some  of  them  before 
they  scattered,  not  to  meet  till  the  term  began. 
But  Tom  held  him  tight,  and  went  on  talking 
loud  and  fast,  expatiating  upon  his  past  history 
and  future  prospects,  his  scrapes  at  school,  and 
his  fears  in  college.  Then  there  were  mis- 
chievous sophomores  loitering  about  to  watch 
the  new  men  coming  forth  from  the  hall,  and 


20  THE  STORY  OF  CYRIL  RIVERS. 

to  mock  at  them  with  jeering  songs  and 
speeches.  These  incensed  Tom,  and  Cyril  was 
obliged  to  use  his  best  logic  to  prevent  him 
from  challenging  a  fight.  So  at  last  they 
passed  out  of  the  grounds  together ;  and,  when 
Cyril  went  home  with  his  father,  the  only  ac- 
quaintance he  had  made  among  his  future 
classmates  was  Tom  Raddon. 


TRUE  AND  DECEITFUL    WITNESS.          21 


CHAPTER  II. 

THE    TRUE   AND   THE   DECEITFUL   WITNESS. 

"  A  true  witness  delivereth  souls;  but  a  deceitful  witness  speak- 
eth  lies." 

"  He  winketh  with  his  eyes,  he  speaketh  with  his  feet,  he  tcach- 
eth  with  his  fingers." 

cT  was  the  hour  for  the  freshmen's 
first  regular  recitation.  With  anx- 
ious punctuality,  most  of  Cyril's  divis- 
ion were  already  gathered  near  the 
door  of  their  recitation-room,  talking 
in  low  tones,  making  acquaintance  with  each 
other.  Some  a  little  apart,  with  open  books, 
were  at  the  last  minute  still  studying.  Among 
these  was  John  Seelye,  who  had  got  into  col- 
lege by  the  force  of  such  terribly  hard  work 
during  the  last  eight  weeks  as  few  could  have 
endured.  And  now  he  will  be  obliged  to  work 
just  as  hard  to  maintain  his  position.  Cyril 
was  glad  to  see  him  again.  Although  he  knew 
so  little  of  him,  he  felt  a  curious  respect  and 


22  TUE  STORY  OF  CYRIL  RIVERS. 

sympathy  for  him.  He  had  an  instinct  that 
this  was  a  man  whose  liking  and  approbation 
were  worth  having.  He  had  never  found  it  a 
mistake  to  express  any  kindly  feeling  that  came 
into  his  heart ;  and  he  meditated  getting  near 
John  when  they  should  pass  in  at  the  door,  and 
expressing  his  pleasure  at  seeing  him  there. 
But,  while  he  was  thinking  of  this,  a  heavy 
hand  was  laid  upon  his  shoulder ;  and,  looking 
up,  he  saw  his  other  examination  acquaintance, 
Tom  Raddon. 

"  Halloo,  old  fellow  !  "  he  cried,  heartily 
shaking  Cyril's  hand.  "  How  are  you.  Glad 
to  see  you  !  " 

"  Thank  you,"  said  Cyril  pleasantly.  "  I've 
been  looking  round  to  see  if  I  should  find  you 
here."  He  did  not  say,  however,  that  he  had 
experienced  a  little  feeling  of  relief  at  not  find- 
ing him.  "  It  begins  to  look  jolly  here,"  he 
added,  "now  that  all  the  fellows  have  got 
together." 

"  Yes,"  said  Tom  ;  but  then  looked  down  at 
the  Legendre  in  his  hand,  and  seemed  a  little 
doubtful.  "  If  it  wasn't  for  these  things,  you 


TRUE  AND  DECEITFUL    WITNESS.          23 

know,"  he  continued.  "  But  I  suppose  you're 
all  right  there  :  you  found  it  as  easy  as  fun. 
"Well,  I  hope  I'm  posted  too,  this  once  :  I'd 
like  to  make  a  fair  start  the  first  day.  If  they'd 
only  let  me  have  the  figure  !  They  say  they'll 
only  give  a  fellow  the  number  of  the  proposi- 
tion here  to  start  upon.  Old  Easiegoe,  where 
I  prepared,  always  used  to  let  us  have  the  fig- 
ure. I  don't  know  how  I  shall  remember  any 
thing  without  it.  I  say,"  —  as  the  tutor  made 
his  appearance,  and  the  crowd  moved  after  him 
into  the  recitation-room,  —  "if  you  see  me 
running  aground,  just  give  me  a  shove." 

The -recitation  was  likely  to  go  pretty  smooth- 
ly that  day,  of  course.  Almost  all,  like  Tom, 
were  anxious  to  run  well  at  the  beginning  of 
the  race.  There  was  probably  many  a  fresh- 
man, with  the  unusual  consciousness  of  know- 
ing his  lesson,  who  would  have  been  quite  disap- 
pointed at  not  being  called  upon  to  recite. 
But  the  tutor,  understanding  the  state  of  the 
case,  seemed  to  light  by  instinct  upon  those 
least  likely  to  be  fluent.  Among  the  first 
called  up  was  John  Seelye.  He  rose  and  gave 


24  THE  STORY  OF  CYRIL  RIVERS. 

the  proposition  correctly,  though  slowly,  and  as 
if  to  bring  out  each  word  in  its  order  required 
a  separate  effort  of  memory.  Then,  as  he  went 
forward  to  the  blackboard  to  demonstrate,  the 
fellows  near  heard  him  take  a  long  breath,  as 
if  about  to  set  himself  to  a  very  hard  task. 
He  took  the  chalk  and  began  well,  proceeding 
through  the  first  half  of  the  proof  without  any 
trouble.  Then  came  a  part  of  the  demonstra- 
tion beginning  from  a  new  point ;  and  his  mem- 
ory could  not  at  once  recall  the  connecting  link 
that  bound  i.t  to  what  had  gone  before.  He 
paused,  looking  disturbed,  and  knitting  his  brow 
in  the  effort  of  thought  to  recall  the  lost  idea. 
Whether  he  would  have  been  successful  we 
can  not  tell,  for  at  that  minute  a  good-natured 
little  fellow,  who  sat  'close  by  the  blackboard, 
whispered  the  words  that  held  the  hint  John's 
mind  was  in  search  of.  He  supposed,  however, 
that  John  did  not  hear  them,  from  his  behav- 
ior. He  laid  down  the  chalk,  and  turned 
directly  away  from  the  board.  "  I  can  not  do 
it,"  he  said  to  the  teacher,  and  returned  to  his 
seat.  His  face  looked  somewhat  dark  and 


TRUE  AND  DECEITFUL   WITNESS.          25 

severe  ;  for  there  was  great  regret,  not  unmin- 
gled  with  anger,  in  his  heart.  His  footing  in 
college  was  so  precarious,  every  failure  weighed 
against  his  being  allowed  to  remain.  He  was 
sure,  that,  if  he  had  been  left  to  himself,  he 
should  not  have  failed ;  but,  as  it  was,  no  other 
alternative  had  been  left  him.  He  could  not 
proceed  without  making  use  of  another  man's 
knowledge  as  his  own  ;  and  both  pride  and  prin- 
ciple were  too  strong  hi  his  mind  to  let  him  do 
that.  No  unlucky  accident  should  force  him 
into  deceit,  even  for  all  the  benefits  of  the 
whole  college  course.  So  what  was  offered  as 
a  kindness  proved  a  misfortune  to  him  :  but  he 
bore  it  in  silence  ;  and  no  one  in  the  class-room 
knew  how  much  vexation  he  was  trying  to 
subdue.  Cyril  was  sorry  to  see  him  fail,  and 
so  was  the  teacher.  The  young  man  who  had 
prompted  him  muttered,  "  Stupid  of  him  not 
to  hear !  "  The  proposition  was  given  to 
another,  who  finished  it  fluently. 

Meanwhile  Tom  Raddou  had  been  attracted 
by  a  beautiful  chronometer  that  one  of  his 
neighbors  had  pulled  out,  and  was  intent  upon 


26  THE  STORY  OF  CYRIL  RIVERS. 

examining  it,  asking  questions  about  it  of  its 
owner  in  not  very  subdued  whispers.  To  that 
lie  probably  owed  it  that  he  was  the  next  man 
called  up.  So  much  engaged  was  he,  that  he 
was  startled  when  aroused  to  the  consciousness 
that  his  name  had  been  spoken,  and  rose  to  his 
feet  in  some  confusion.  "  Proposition  twenty- 
ninth,"  demands  the  tutor.  Tom  can  not  col- 
lect his  wits.  He  thinks  he  knew  which  one 
that  was  a  minute  ago,  but  now  it  has  slipped 
from  his  mind.  He  looks  imploringly  down  at 
Cyril,  who,  as  the  fates  would  have  it,  because 
their  names  follow  in  alphabetical  order,  is  to 
be  his  seatmate  in  class  and  in  chapel  for  the 
next  four  years.  Cyril  is  apparently  quite  un- 
conscious of  Tom's  perplexity.  His  eyes  are 
bent  upon  the  white  wristband  which  has 
pushed  itself  down  below  his  sleeve,  and  upon 
which  he  is  making  a  few  swift  lines  with  his 
pencil.  Now  he  changes  his  position,  and 
throws  the  hand  with  the  exposed  cuff  care- 
lessly down  upon  his  knee.  In  the  midst  of 
Tom's  bewilderment  his  eyes  fall  upon  it.  Lo, 
there  is  the  figure  of  proposition  twenty-ninth  ! 


TRUE  AND  DECEITFUL   WITNESS.          27 

He  catches  the  clew  at  once,  and  his  presence 
of  mind  is  restored  with  his  memory.  He  be- 
gins and  ends  his  recitation  with  perfect  suc- 
cess, and  takes  his  seat  with  the  triumphant 
certainty  that  he  has,  as  he  expresses  it,  "  made 
a  rush."  The  underhand  help  he  has  received 
does  not  seem  to  take  any  thing  from  his  satis- 
faction with  himself:  on  the  contrary,  he  is  de- 
lighted with  his  quickness  in  accepting  it,  and 
with  Cyril's  adroitness  in  offering  it. 

Well,  there  is  again  excuse  to  be  made  for 
Tom.  Who  could  expect  him  to  abhor  such  a 
little  cheat,  when  from  his  very  childhood  he 
had  heard  his  father  boast  more  over  dishonest 
profits  than  any  other,  and  seen  him  chuckle 
over  the  advantages  he  gained  from  the  igno- 
rance of  poor  John .  Chinaman,  giving  him 
drink  in  order  to  draw  him  into  unjust  and 
cruel  contracts  ;  but  for  that  Cyril's  guilt  seems 
the  greater.  There  was  no  such  palliation  for 
his  conduct :  the  example  set  before  him  had 
been  shining  white,  the  teaching  faithful  and 
grave.  Yet  he,  who  knew  the  light,  deliber- 
ately put  out  his  hand,  and  pushed  his  brother 


'28  THE  STORY  OF  CYRIL  RIVERS. 

farther  on  into  the  darkness.  I  wonder  that 
diagram,  as  he  sketched  it,  did  not  illustrate  for 
him  a  moral  instead  of  a  mathematical  truth, 
and  that  he  did  not  substitute  words  of  a  new 
meaning  for  those  Tom  was  reciting  so  fluently. 
Why  did  they  not  run  in  his  mind  something 
in  this  wise  ?  — 

Two  sins  whose  motives  are  parallel,  and  tend- 
ing in  the  same  direction,  are  equal  to  each  other. 

Let  A  B,  the  desire  of  favor,  and  13  C,  the 
wish  to  seem  adroit  and  knowing,  unite  to  form 


my  sin  ;  and  let  D  E,  the  love  of  money,  and  E 
F,  the  wish  to  seem  generous,  unite  to  form 
Ananias'.  Then,  since  A  B  is  parallel  to  D  E, 
and  B  C  to  E  F,  and  the  sins  they  result  in 
alike  tend  to  deception,  those  sins  are  equal, 
and  their  capacity  for  sorrowful  consequences 
as  great. 


TRUE  AND  DECEITFUL    WITNESS.          29 

Perhaps  you  will  call  that  a  very  strained 
and  fanciful  statement ;  but  nevertheless  it 
seems  to  me  the  fact  is  as  true  as  any  in  Euclid. 
•  But  Cyril  had  never  trained  himself  to  ap- 
ply great  principles  to  small  affairs ;  and  evil 
example  and  the  desire  to  be  popular  helped 
him  to  overlook  what  was  wrong  in  such 
habits  as  these.  He  did  feel  a  little  uncomfort- 
able about  what  he  had  just  done ;  but  that 
was  not  so  much  because  of  its  sinfulness  as  on 
account  of  the  fact  that  he  had  put  another 
bond  between  Tom  and  himself,  when  he  had 
not  quite  made  up  his  mind  that  he  wanted  to 
continue  the  intimacy.  But  he  comforted  him- 
self with  thinking  that  one  could  not  have  too 
many  friends,  and  that  he  could  no  doubt  shake 
off  this  one  easily  enough  when  he  became 
troublesome. 

The  recitation-hour  passed  away,  and  the 
tutor's  word  of  dismissal  set  the  class  dispers- 
ing. Cyril  was  again  looking  toward  John 
Seelye  ;  but  Tom  had  already  got  his  powerful 
arm  about  his  friend's  shoulder,  and  was  pull- 
in  or  him  toward  the  staircase.  Tom  was  eager 


30  THE  STORY  OF  CTKIL  RIVERS. 

to  pour  out  his  exultation  over  his  own  and 
Cyril's  cleverness,  and  Cyril  must  perforce  pass 
on  and  hear  it.  But,  before  we  go  with  them, 
let  us  stop  a  minute,  and  listen  to  what  John 
Steelye  is  saying  to  the  youth  who  sat  beside 
the  black-board  when  John  was  trying  to  recite. 
At  the  dismissal  of  the  class  he  went  across  the 
room,  and  took  the  lad  by  the  button-hole. 
There  was  great  earnestness  in  John's  face,  but 
not  a  trace  of  vexation  now.  He  might  have 
come  to  express  his  thanks  for  a  kindly  inten- 
tion, for  all  that  his  countenance  showed  to  the 
contrary.  But  he  said,  looking  down  from  the 
height  of  his  six  feet  and  his  twenty-one  years 
upon  the  youngster  of  seventeen,  "  I  want  to 
tell  you  something,  my  lad.  Don't  you  ever 
again,  as  long  as  you  live,  offer  to  help  me,  or 
any  other  man,  with  a  present  of  a  lie." 

Nollie  Stavins  looked  at  him  in  utter  aston- 
ishment. He  could  not  at  first  comprehend 
his  meaning. 

"  Oh !  "  he  said  at  last,  recovering  from  his 
surprise.  "  Why,  I  just  gave  you  a  hint !  I 
thought  you'd  be  glad  of  it." 


TRUE  AND  DECEITFUL    WITNESS.          31 

"  Yes,  I  know ;  but  I  tell  you  I  can't  be 
glad  to  make  show  of  another  man's  goods 
for  my  own,  whether  it's  his  knowledge  or 
any  thing  else.  You  meant  it  kindly  :  I  thank 
you  for  that.  But  the  next  time  you've  got  a 
good  feeling  toward  anybody,  don't  you  let  the 
devil  get  hold  of  it  for  an  instrument  to  help 
make  a  cheat  of  you  and  your  friends.  You're 
a  traitor  to  it  if  you  do,  and  go  against  the  very 
ends  for  which  God  gave  it  to  you." 

Stavins  began  to  look  serious,  though  not 
displeased.  "  Ain't  you  too  strict  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  No,  I  am  not,"  safd  John  with  decision. 
"  I  love  the  truth  always.  I  believe  the  man 
that  won't  stick  to  it  in  every  little  thing,  before 
you  know  it  his  whole  character  will  be  un- 
sound. If  you'll  remember  that,  you  won't  do 
again  what  you  did  for  me  tO«-day,  nor  you 
won't  be  angry  with  me  for  speaking  about  it." 

"  I  am  not  angry,"  said  Stavins,  who  was  an 
earnest  and  well-meaning  little  fellow.  "  I  be- 
lieve you're  right,  and  I'm  glad  you  spoke." 

Ah,  if  Cyril  had  only  heard  these  words 
of  John,  or  rather  if  he  had  had  such  a  spirit ! 


32  THE  STORY  OF  CYRIL  RIVERS. 

If  he,  with  such  earnestness  and  uprightness, 
had  spoken  like  things  to  Tom  Raddon,  what  a 
happy  thing  it  might  have  been  for  them  botli ! 
But,  if  we  follow  them  as  they  pass  out,  we 
find  Cyril  thoughtlessly  laying  more  snares,  in- 
stead of  making  straight  the  path  for  his  own 
and  his  companion's  feet.  A  number  of  the 
young  men  had  joined  them,  some  attracted  by 
Cyril's  bright  face,  and  some  by  Tom's  tall 
figure  and  dashing  dress,  and  the  boisterous 
spirits  in  which  he  was  indulging.  "  Hold  my 
hat,"  he  cried,  "  while  I  stand  on  my  head,  in 
honor  of  that  bully  rush  !  " 

Some  one  caught  the  hat,  and  down  went 
Tom's  great  head,  with  all  its  black,  shaggy 
locks,  into  the  green  grass,  while  his  long  legs 
slowly  elevated  themselves  in  air.  A  shout  of 
laughter  broke  forth  at  the  absurdity  of  the 
maneuver.  "  There,"  said  Tom,  picking  him- 
self up  ;  "  I'll  do  that  for  you  again  whenever 
you  say,  Rivers !  Did  you  see  the  cute  way 
he  helped  me  out  of  a  scrape,  boys  ?  " 

"  No  :  how  was  that  ?  "  asked  the  others, 
greatly  amused. 


TRUE  AND  DECEITFUL    WITNESS.          33 

Tom  seized  Cyril's  unwilling  arm,  pushed  up 
the  coat-sleeve,  and  showed  the  diagram 
marked  upon  the  white  cuff,  explaining  volu- 
bly how  much  at  a  loss  he  had  been,  and  how 
it  had  helped  him.  They  all  listened  with 
laughing  interest:  there  was  not  one  who 
seemed  to  consider  the  matter  in  any  way  a 
serious  one. 

"  It  was  cleverly  done,"  said  one.  "  I  shall 
be  on  the  look-out  for  your  wristbands,  too, 
Rivers." 

"  I  should  say,"  said  another  shrewdly, 
"  that  was  a  trick  which  would  serve  one's  self 
as  well  as  other  people,  eh,  Rivers  ?  " 

"I  suppose  it  might,"  said  Cyril,  smiling; 
"  but  I  never  tried  using  it  in  that  way.  It's 
one  I  keep  expressly  to  lend.  It's  not  so  good 
as  the  one  I  keep  for  myself,  which  is  to  learn 
my  lessons ;  but  I  can  tell  you  another  I  used 
to  see  at  school  that  beats  the  wristband  dodo-e, 

O      * 

if  you  want  one  for  your  own  benefit." 
"  What  is  that  ?  tell  us  that !  "  cried  Tom. 
"Who's  got  shiny  boots?"  said  Cyril,  look- 
ing down  at  the  various  pairs  of  feet  clustered 


34  THE  STORY  OF  CYRIL  RIVERS. 

near  him.  Tom  put  forward  one  of  his,  and 
showed  a  gigantic  boot  highly  varnished. 

"  Just  the  thing ! "  said  Cyril,  laughing. 
"  Rest  it  up  there  on  the  fence,  will  you  ?  " 

Tom  obediently  mounted  it  to  the  top  rail, 
qitite  regardless  of  jokes  and  laughter  at  the 
expense  of  its  size,  some  one  calling  it  a 
"  guffin,"  and  another  bidding  him  take  it 
down  just  a  moment  so  that  he  could  get  a 
view  of  the  chapel-clock. 

"  It's  an  understanding  of  the  first  order," 
said  Tom  good-naturedly. 

"Yes,"  said  Cyril ;  "and  I'll  show  you  how 
to  make  it  serve  you  better  than  the  one  you 
keep  in  the  upper  story.  See  here,  now ! " 
and,  producing  a  soft  lead-pencil,  he  began 
tracing  diagrams  upon  the  surface  of  the  boot. 
Then,  turning  it  so  that  the  light  would  strike 
upon  it,  the  dark  lines  were  plainly  visible. 

"  It's  as  plain  as  the  book ! "  cried  Tom, 
delighted ;  "  and  no  more  chance  of  Agin's 
seeing  it  than  of  his  seeing  what's  inside  your 
head!" 

You  see,"  said  Cyril :   "  you  just  take  your 


TRUE  AND  DECEITFUL    WITNESS.          35 

foot  up  in  your  lap,  and  appear  to  be  examining 
the  make  or  the  wear  of  your  shoe,  ami  you 
can  be  studying  your  lesson  all  class-time.  And 
when  you  stand  up  to  recite,  if  you  should  be 
looking  thoughtfully  down  upon  the  floor,  why, 
there  wouldn't  be  any  thing  very  suspicious  in 
that,  you  know." 

"  I  vow,  I'll  try  it  to-morrow  !  "  cried 
Tom. 

"  And  so  will  I !  "  said  another. 

Cyril  looked  up,  still  lightly  smiling,  and  yet 
a  little  disturbed.  "  No,"  said  he,  putting  up 
his  pencil :  "  I  guess  I  wouldn't.  I  only  just 
showed  you  for  fun.  It  used  to  make  sport 
among  the  boys  trying  it  in  the  grammar 
school  at  home.  But  I  tell  you  it's  a  better 
trick,  and  considerably  less  trouble  in  the  long 
run,  to  learn  one's  lessons :  there's  no  danger 
of  its  ever  falling  through,  you  see." 

"  Yes :  that's  all  very  well  for  you  to  say," 
said  Raddon ;  "  but  I  ain't  smart  enough  to 
learn  that  trick,  so  it's  well  you've  got  others 
to  teach  me.  I  don't  believe  I  should  have 
got  here  if  it  hadn't  been  for  you ;  so  don't 


36  TUB  STORY  OF  CYRIL  RIVERS. 

you  think,  now,  the  responsibility  of  keeping 
me  here  kind  o'  rests  on  you  ?  " 

"  Nonsense !  I  hope  not ! "  cried  Cyril 
hastily.  "Come,  don't  let's  stand  loitering 
here  ;  come  on  and  pass  ball." 

He  pulled  a  base-ball  from  his  pocket,  and 
they  went  to  another  part  of  the  grounds  to 
play.  Cyril  threw  himself  into  the  exercise, 
and  soon  forgot  the  mischief  he  had  been  scat- 
tering. 

But  it  was  not  lost  so  quickly  as  it  slipped 
out  of  his  memory.  Two  days  after  this,  Tom 
insisted  on  taking  Cyril  up  to  his  room  to  show 
him  something.  There  Cyril  found  a  huge 
pair  of  boots  upon  the  table ;  and  Tom,  taking 
them  to  the  window,  showed  how  neatly  he 
had  copied  out  upon  them  all  the  diagrams  of 
his  lesson. 

"  There  I  "  said  he  triumphantly,  "  now  I'm 
prepared  to  make  a  rush.  I  can  go  down  and 
play  billiards  with  an  easy  mind." 

Cyril  stood  looking  at  the  boots  with  a  half- 
smilc  upon  his  face,  but  with  a  very  uncomfort- 
able feeling  in  his  heart  nevertheless.  "  You've 


TRUE  AND  DECEITFUL    WITNESS.  37 

forgotten  something,  Raddon,"  he  said  care- 
lessly. 

"What's  that?"  said  Tom.  "I  thought 
I'd  got  them  all  there." 

"  Yes ;  but  what  good  will  they  do  you 
without  the  numbers  ?  You  have  not  num- 
bered them." 

"  Thunder !  what  a  fool  I  am  !  "  exclaimed 
Tom.  "  I'm  too  stupid  to  do  my  own  cheating 
without  the  help  of  your  wit.  Where's  that 
book  ?  " 

By  this  time  the  unpleasant  feeling  was 
growing  stronger  in  Cyril's  mind,  and  he  did 
not  assist  in  the  search  for  the  book  among 
the  mass  of  things  upon  the  table. 

"Look  here,  Tom,"  he  said:  "never  mind 
the  book.  I  wouldn't  get  the  numbers  :  let  it 
go.  You  can  learn  to  do  without  the  figures 
as  well  as  any  of  us  ;  and,  if  you  get  used  to 
going  on  by  such  ways  as  these,  it'll  be  awful 
rough  for  you  at  examination." 

Ah,  Cyril !  with  all  the  teaching  you  have 
had,  can  you  do  nothing  better  than  to  urge 
motives  of  policy  so  feebly  ?  If  you  had  but 


38  THE  STORY  OF  CYRIL  RIVERS. 

a  tithe  of  John  Seelye's  love  of  the  plain  prin- 
ciples of  right,  and  the  least  spark  of  his  bold- 
ness in  proclaiming  them,  who  knows  how  they 
might  lay  hold  upon  Tom's  untaught  heart ! 
But  he  will  not  heed  your  timid  whisper  of 
prudence  and  caution. 

He  looked  at  Cyril  in  surprise,  and  then 
scowled  and  grew  sulky.  "  What !  have  all 
that  trouble  for  nothing  ?  No :  I  won't.  It's 
well  enough  for  you  to  say  you  would,  and  you 
wouldn't :  you  don't  need  to.  But  I  tell  you 
I  can't  learn  to  do  without  the  figures :  I 
might  study  myself  blind,  and  I  should  never 
be  sure  of  my  lesson.  And  as  for  the  examina- 
tion, it  may  go  hang  !  " 

And  so  saying,  Tom  angrily  pitched  the 
heap  of  books  upon  the  table  right  and  left, 
brought  forth  the  Euclid,  and  slammed  it  down 
with  a  bang,  by  way  of  letting  off  his  irritation. 
Cyril  stood  still  a  minute,  and  watched  him 
turning  the  leaves.  He  said  to  himself  that  he 
had  now,  at  all  events,  done  his  duty  in  remon- 
strating with  Tom,  but  that  there  could  be  no 
use  in  trying  to  do  any  thing  with  a  fellow  of 


TRUE  AND  DECEITFUL    WITNESS.          39 

that  description :  one  must  just  let  him  go  his 
own  way.  He  staid  a  few  minutes,  till,  by  a 
little  pleasant  talk,  he  had  won  him  out  of  his 
fit  of  ill-humor,  and  then  went  away. 


40        '     THE  STOAT  OF  CYL'JL  K1VERS. 


CHAPTER    III. 

THE    POPULAR    MAN. 

"  The  blackslider  In  heart  shall  be  filled  with  his  own  ways;  and 
a  good  man  shall  be  satisfied  from  himself." 

DAY  or  two  after  the  events  re- 
corded in  the  last  chapter,  Tom 
came  and  seated  himself  in  Cyril's 
room,  evidently  with  some  plan  in  his 
mind  which  he  wanted  to  unfold. 
"  Rivers,"  said  he,  "  what  are  you  going  to 
do  about  the  initiation  ?  "  He  meant  the  so- 
culled  initiatory  exercises,  through  which  the 
sophomores,  some  night  this  week,  were  going 
to  put  the  new-comers,  tossing  them  in  a  blan- 
ket, and  playing  upon  them  their  practical  jokes, 
or  forcing  them,  if  they  preferred,  to  "  stand  a 
treat." 

"  Why,  take  it  as  it  comes,  I  suppose,"  said 
Cyril  smiling.     "  I'm  not  afraid  of  a  blanket. 


THE  POPULAR  MAN.  41 

if  it's  a  strong  one,  nor  of  sham  coffins  and 
sepulchers,  either." 

"Nor  J,"  said  Tom;  "but  then  I  rather 
think  it's  a  more  satisfactory  thing  to  all  con- 
cerned if  a  fellow  chooses  to  treat.  I'd  about 
as  lief  be  sitting  down  to  a  comfortable  supper 
of  woodcock  and  hot  oysters,  making  the  fel- 
lows happy,  if  they  are  sophs,  as  to  be  pitched 
round  the  streets  blindfold,  very  likely  getting 
mad,  and  stirring  'em  up  to  haze  me  real 
rough." 

"  Very  wise  of  you  too,"  said  Cyril.  "  I'd 
advise  you  to  treat,  by  all  means."  He  knew, 
as  no  doubt  Tom  did,  that  the  latter  was  a 
marked  man  with  the  sophomores,  both  on 
account  of  his  noisy,  boastful  manners,  and  the 
enormous  wealth  it  was  said  he  had  at  com- 
mand. It  had  been  resolved  that  he  should 
treat  very  generously,  or  be  roughly  handled. 

"  Then,"  said  Tom,  "  will  you  go  with  me, 
and  make  a  joint  thing  of  it  ?  " 

"  Why,  no,"  said  Cyril,  much  surprised  and 
somewhat  discomposed  at  such  a  proposition. 
"  I  can't  afford  to  treat." 


42  TTJK  STORY  OF  CYRIL  J1IVKRS. 

"  Confound  it !  "  said  Tom,  "  you  know  I 
don't  mean  that.  I  just  want  you  to  come 
along  with  me,  and  have  it  our  treat,  —  a  joint 
thing.  You  know  how  to  do  such  a  thing,  and 
I  don't.  You  know  how  to  make  it  a  gentle- 
manly affair;  but,  if  it's  only  me,  they'll  act 
like  Injuns  over  a  war-feast.  If  I've  got  the 
'rocks,'  can't  you  lend  me  your  brains?  I 
can't  manage  it  by  myself:  I  shouldn't  get 
decent  treatment  for  all  my  pains,  and  there'd 
be  some  land  of  a  row  out  of  it.  Why  can't 
you  come  with  me  ?  " 

"  Because  I  can't,"  said  Cyril  slowly.  But, 
made  in  this  way,  the  offer  did  not  seem  so 
impossible  to  accept,  and  it  was  not  without  its 
temptations.  It  would  have  been  nothing  to 
him,  but  lately,  to  .have  had  it  known  among 
the  fellows  that  he  was  too  poor  to  soften  his 
initiation  with  a  treat,  and  help  establish  good 
feeling  between  his  class  and  the  next  higher  ; 
and,  as  we  have  seen,  he  had  just  acknowl- 
edged it  to  Tom.  But  he  had  not  done  so 
without  a  twinge  of  annoyance  :  his  ideas  were 
lowering,  with  his  aims,  since  he  left  his 


THE  POPULAR  MAN.  43 

father's  .influence.  Cyril's  uncertainty  about 
desiring  to  be  named  among  Tom's  intimates 
had  also  vanished.  He  had  not  lived  more 
than  seventeen  years  in  the  sordid  atmosphere 
of  this  world,  without  perceiving  that  there  was 
something  magical  in  the  name  of  a  millionaire. 
He  saw  that  Tom,  by  virtue  of  his  wealth,  and 
also  of  his  high  spirits  and  native  strength  of 
character,  was  going  to  take  a  better  social 
standing  in  the  class  than  Cyril  had  at  first 
thought  possible.  In  the  little  college  world, 
he  was  going  to  be  a  man  of  some  considera- 
tion. It  would,  at  least,  be  nothing  to  be 
ashamed  of  to  be  ranked  among  his  companions. 
Then  what  Tom  had  said  of  the  necessity 
of  his  help  both  flattered  and  tempted  Cyril. 
Here  was  an  opportunity  of  shining.  Cyril 
was  conscious  of  social  talents,  of  a  ready  wit, 
and  a  sort  of  enthusiasm  in  sport  that  always 
pleased.  Moreover,  it  was  true  that  he  had  a 
gift  at  managing  such  sport,  and  could  keep 
order,  as  Tom  said,  where  the  latter's  displeas- 
ure and  growling  would  be  apt  to  turn  the 
whole  affair  into  a  wild  riot.  But,  then,  how 


44  THE  STORY  OF  CYRIL  RIVERS. 

could  he  let  Tom  pay  for  what  was  called  their 
joint  treat  ?  lie  was  conscious  that  would 
he  unwise,  if  not  disgraceful. 

"  If  you  won't  join,"  said  Tom,  scowling, 
"  I  wont  have  any  treat.  I'll  stand  the  haz- 
ing." 

Cyril  looked  at  his  dogged,  frowning  face, 
and  was  troubled.  "  They'll  he  rough  on  you, 
Tom,"  lie  said :  "  it  won't  do  at  all.  They 
know  you're  rich  ;  and  it's  said  round  among 
the  fellows  that  they  expect  a  first-rate  treat  of 
you." 

"  Confound  'em  !  I  don't  care.  If  you  do, 
you  might  just  come  with  me.  I  know  one 
thing :  if  they're  rough  on  me,  I'll  show  'em 
that,  in  a  way  they  won't  like ; "  and  Tom 
pulled  from  his  pocket  a  small  revolver,  with 
shining  silver  ornaments  and  polished  wood. 

"  But  that  is  not  fair  !  "  said  Cyril,  surprised 
and  alarmed.  "I  say,  lladdon,"  —  reaching 
out  for  it  anxiously,  —  "  give  me  that  to  keep 
till  the  initiation  is  over  I  " 

"  No:  I  won't;  and,  what's  more,  I  vow  I'll 
have  it  in  my  pocket  that  night,  unless  you'll 
promise  to  come  to  my  treat." 


THE  POPULAR  MAN.  45 

Cyril  was  perplexed  and  half  angry.  Tom's 
willful  hanging  upon  him  and  teasing  him  in 
this  way  was,  however,  only  the  result  he 
might  have  expected  from  his  unkind  kindness 
to  him  the  day  they  first  met,  and  since. 

"  Come,"  said  Tom.  perceiving  his  irresolu- 
tion, "  be  friendly,  and  do  a  fellow  a  favor, 
can't  you  ?  " 

"  To  keep  you  from  hanging  yourself!  "  said 
Cyril,  vexed,  and  yet  laughing. 

But  Tom  saw  that  he  had  carried  the  day. 

"Exactly,"  said  he.  "And,  now  it's  all 
settled,  come  down  and  play  billiards  with  us." 

"  No,"  said  Cyril :  "  I  brought  some  books 
from  the  library  two  days  ago  that  I  have 
hardly  looked  into." 

"  Oh !  "  groaned  Tom,  between  a  sigh  and  a 
yawn :  "  books  !  I'm  told  I  came  here  to  read 
books  as  well  as  study  'em.  I  went  over  to 
the  library,  and  asked  the  '  seed '  there  to  give 
me  something  to  enlighten  me  about  the  poli- 
tics of  this  country ;  and  he  told  me  I'd  best 
read  somebody  on  common  law,  and  some- 
body on  the  Constitution,  and  somebody's 


46  THE  STORY  OF  CYRIL  HIRERS. 

Thirty  Years  in  the  United-States'  Senate,  and 
more  besides.  I  said  I'd  take  all  he  men- 
tioned :  how  should  I  know  some  of  'em  were 
so  big  ?  Gracious  I  I  thought  I'd  never  get 
'em  lugged  up  to  my  room.  I'm  bound  to  do 
something  to  be  the  man  my  father  expects ; 
but  hang  me  if  I  can  go  through  all  those, 
besides  the  Greek  and  Euclid !  " 

Cyril  was  amused,  but  he  kept  a  sober  face. 
"  It's  good  reading,"  said  he.  "  I  shouldn't 
wonder  if  you  liked  it  if  you'd  once  set  to 
work  at  it.  Better  not  go  down  to  play  bil- 
liards, but  just  try  the  '  Thirty  Years '  in- 
stead." 

"  Better  not !  "  Is  that  all,  Cyril  ?  Can 
you  not  tell  him  why  he'd  better  not?  Tell 
him  here  are  four  long  evening  hours  given 
to  him  by  God ;  that  he  lias  had  recreation 
enough  to-day ;  that  he  bowled  after  dinner 
when  he  should  have  studied  his  Euclid,  and 
played  bazique  in  his  room  this  morning  when 
he  should  have  been  writing  his  Latin  prose, 
and  lounged  away  many  precious  minutes  be- 
tween the  occupations  of  the  day.  Tell  him 


THE  POPULAR  MAN.  47 

that  If  ho  wastes  now  these  last  hours,  so  full 
of  opportunity,  before  the  nightfall  comes  to 
end  the  chance  to  work,  that  if  in  them  he 
wears  away  in  frivolous  excitement  any  more 
of  the  strength  of  the  good  mind  God  gave 
him)  —  dims  in  them  the  likeness  it  was  made 
to  bear,  —  his  Father  and  Creator  will  hold 
him  fearfully  responsible  for  the  sin ;  tell  him 
how  he  will  himself  one  day  grieve  over  the 
irretrievable  loss.  You  are  not  ignorant, 
Cyril.  Why  will  you  not  bethink  yourself, 
and  tell  him  ? 

But  Cyril  has  no  other  word  of  warning 
than  his  careless  "  better  not ;  "  and  Tom  pays 
no  heed  to  that.  He  says  there  is  going  to  be  a 
game  for  the  championship  in  his  club,  between 
the  two  best  players,  and  that  he  must  be 
there  to  see  ;  and  so  he  goes  away. 

The  intimacy  between  these  two,  so  unlike 
in  character,  tastes,  and  breeding,  grew  fast  in 
the  following  days.  Tom  not  only  depended 
much  on  Cyril,  but  he  showed  for  him  a  sin- 
cere admiration  and  affection  that  pleased  and 
flattered  him,  and  was  not  without  its  effect  in 


48  THE  STORY  OF  Cl'RIL  RIVERS. 

causing  a  return  of  love.  Yet  by  Cyril's  help 
Tom  stood  in  a  false  position  :  he  had  got  into  col- 
lege only  half-prepared.  Therefore  he  justly  felt 
that  Cyril  bore  a  sort  of  responsibility  for  him. 
It  would  not  have  mattered  much,  perhaps,  if 
he  had  been  at  all  industrious,  —  if  he  even  did 
as  well  as  he  had  resolved  to  do.  But  he  could 
not  govern  himself.  Indolence  and  the  love  of 
pleasure  were  too  strong  for  him.  There  were 
companions  to  solicit  him  to  sports  of  every 
kind,  some  of  them  very  near  to  vice,  and 
poverty  imposed  on  him  no  salutary  check. 
So  the  struggle  to  get  a  little  farther  toward  his 
aim,  yet  to  live  without  the  least  self-denial, 
was  every  day  being  fought  over  with  him. 
When  he  was  threatened  with  too  disgraceful 
defeat,  then  he  ran  to  Cyril  for  assistance. 
Cyril  sometimes  tried  to  help  him  in  a  lawful 
way,  but  oftener,  being  himself  full  of  occupa- 
tions, gave  him  his  own  Latin  prose  exercises 
and  demonstrated  problems  to  copy,  without 
any  apparent  compunctions. 

Whatever  reluctance  might  have  lingered  in 
Cyril's  mind  to  join  Tom  in  his  treat  vanished 


THE  POPULAR  MAN.  49 

in  the  excitement  of  the  hour  when  initiation 
night  came  on.  Tom,  to  make  sure  of  his 
plan,  was  in  Cyril's  room  when  the  masked 
sophomores  invaded  it  in  search  of  the  "  fresh- 
men." What  representations  he  made  to  them 
Cyril  cared  little,  at  that  moment,  in  the  antici- 
pation of  sport.  The  two  were  blindfolded  and 
marched  down  the  street  together,  lectured  all 
the  way  with  mock  counsels  and  absurd  ad- 
monitions, and  obliged  to  answer  impertinent 
inquiries  into  the  state  of  the  freshman's  purse 
and  wardrobe,  and  into  his  circumstances  and 
condition  generally.  Cyril  was  just  in  the 
mood  to  make  happy  replies,  full  of  good-na- 
ture, yet  keen  and  fearless  ;  so  that  Tom's  dis- 
position to  grow  foolishly  sulky  at  being  treated 
like  a  juvenile  was  laughed  away;  and  the 
mirth  of  the  whole  party  lost  any  element  there 
might  have  been  in  it  of  malicious  teasing,  and 
became  genial  and  friendly.  Tom  and  Cyril 
being  taken  into  some  restaurant,  as  they  per- 
ceived by  the  heat  and  smell,  were  seated  at 
a  table,  and  commanded  to  make  a  speech  of 
welcome  to  their  self-bidden  guests,  and  to 

4 


60  THE  STORY  OF  CYRIL  RI7ERS. 

order  tliem  refreshments.  This  hitter  duty 
Torn  performed  with  reckless  liberality,  order- 
ing the  choicest  viands  the  house  could  supply  ; 
while  Cyril,  quite  as  ready  for  his  part,  climbed 
upon  a  chair  and  began  a  speech.  He  knew 
how  to  suit  the  taste  of  his  audience :  he  had 
entered  heartily  into  the  mirthful  spirit  of  the 
occasion,  and  he  had  a  ready  wit  and  fluent 
tongue.  He  expressed  his  brotherly  welcome 
and  his  pompous  offer  of  hospitality  in  an  ab- 
surd jargon  of  stilted  and  poetic  phrases,  min- 
gled with  Greek  and  Latin  quotations,  and  set 
off  with  the  choicest  college  slang.  It  was 
full  of  happy  allusions  to  college  jokes  and  cus- 
toms and  characters,  and  occasionally,  under 
high-flown  compliments  to  the  auditors,  covered 
some  sly  hit  upon  them  which  was  too  good 
not  to  be  pardoned.  There  were  many  other 
parties  of  }7oung  men  in  the  room,  all  of  whom 
were  attracted  to  listen ;  and,  when  Cyril  came 
down  from  his  chair,  he  was  applauded  with 
cries  of  "  Well  done,  Freshie !  well  done  !  " 
"  Bully  for  the  Fresh  !  "  Tom  and  he,  having 
first  been  obliged  to  drink  the  health  of  the 


THE  POPULAR  MAN.  51 

sophomore  class,  were  then  allowed  to  take  off 
their  blinders,  and  condescendingly  invited  to 
eat,  drink,  and  make  themselves  at  home.  And, 
as  the  feast  proceeded,  not  all  the  sham  dignity 
of  the  little  party  could  disguise  the  fact  that 
they  found  Cyril  the  freshman  very  good  com- 
pany. Toward  the  close  of  the  evening,  he 
mounted  the  chair  again,  and,  not  having  the 
blinder  this  time  to  hide  his  bright  eyes  and 
facile  countenance,  began  describing  the  various 
members  of  the  faculty,  in  the  act  of  express- 
ing their  strictures  upon  such  demonstrations 
as  were  setting  the  college  in  an  uproar  to- 
night ;  mimicking  the  anxious  sigh  of  one,  the 
patient  gravity  of  another,  the  sharp  indigna- 
tion of  a  third,  and  giving  little  oddities  of 
manner  and  figure,  little  tricks  of  speech  and 
tone,  with  so.  much  faithfulness  that  the  de- 
lighted young  men  could  call  out  the  name  of 
each  one  personified,  as  the  actor  made  him 
appear  in  his  turn  upon  the  stage. 

.  This  put  the  climax  to  his  glory  and  popu- 
larity for  the  evening.  Nothing  could  exceed 
Tom's  delight  at  the  performance  ;  and  the  re- 


52  THE  STORY  OF  CYRIL  RIVERS. 

port  of  it  gained  Cyril  great  renown  among  his 
classmates.  lie  became,  from  that  evening, 
one  of  the  most  conspicuous  and  admired 
among  them.  But  it  was  no  good  fortune. 
So  long  as  he  had  been  comparatively  unknown, 
there  had  been  no  great  temptation  to  lead  him 
to  deviate  from  the  regular  habits  of  reading 
and  study  which  his  own  taste  and  ambition 
had  led  him  to  establish.  But  now  his  room 
began  to  be  sought  out  by  all  manner  of  vis- 
itors, —  some  the  gayest  and  idlest,  some  the 
best  and  most  attractive  men  in  the  class. 
Everybody  wanted  his  acquaintance  and  com- 
pany. He  was  beset  with  solicitations  for  his 
leisure  time.  Would  he  not  join  this  society, 
or  that  ?  Would  he  not  be  a  member  of  the 
singing-club,  or  the  chess-club,  or  the  billiard- 
club,  or  the  boating-club  ?  Would  he  not  go 
to  walk,  or  to  ride,  or  to  be  introduced  to  lady 
friends  in  the  city  ?  Every  kind  of  pleasure 
that  lively  or  intelligent  or  wealthy  companion- 
ship could  offer  was  at  his  command.  And 
Cyril  was  young :  if  he  liked  books,  neverthe- 
less life  looked  to  him  a  thousand  times  more 


THE  rOPULAn  MAN.  53 

charming.  How,  then,  was  it  likely  to  fare 
with  one  who,  in  spite  of  good  teaching,  in 
spite  of  many  noble  aspirations,  in  spite  of  a 
clear  insight  of  consequences,  yet  had  not 
trained  himself  to  bring  conscience  to  bear  in 
little  things  ?  who,  now  that  no  watchful  fath- 
er had  oversight  of  his  hours,  could  say,  "It  is 
no  harm  to  slight,  just  this  once,  the  perfect 
mastery  I  know  I  might  get  over  this  lesson  ; 
no  harm,  just  this  once,  to  let  my  companions 
keep  me  up  so  late  that  I  shall  hardly  wake  in 
time  for  prayers  to-morrow ;  no  harm,  just  for 
to-day,  to  lose  the  reading  I  was  going  to  keep 
up  with  my  study,  and  which  would  make  it  so 
much  more  valuable  "  ?  Why,  the  harm  which 
he  denied  overtook  him,  —  great  harm  and 
irrecoverable  loss.  For  the  yielding  to  small 
temptation  never  happens  "just  this  once," 
but  again,  and  again,  and  again.  And  each 
time  it  wears  away  some  strength,  some  sound- 
ness and  goodness,  from  the  foundations  of 
character,  and  renders  them  at  last  weak  and 
untrustworthy. 

Cyril  became  the  most  popular  man  in  his 


54  THE  STORY  OF  CYRIL  RIVERS. 

class.  He  wrote  its  songs,  furnished  it  with 
squibs,  and  planned  its  prowess.  He  was  the 
glory  of  its  base-ball  nine,  the  best  debater  and 
the  most  active  politician  in  its  literary  society. 
But,  little  by  little,  he  was  ceasing  to  be  its 
best  scholar.  He  had  so  much  to  occupy  his 
time,  there  were  so  many  to  please,  so  many 
enjoyments  to  be  tasted,  such  various  kinds  of 
glory  to  win.  He  could  not  degenerate  into 
one  of  those  scrambling  students,  who  run  to 
recitation  with  open  book ;  who  tremble  for 
fear  they  shall  be  called  up ;  who  call  it  won- 
derfully good  luck  if  they  blunder  forth  some 
confused  notion  of  the  lesson,  and  just  their 
luck  if  they  are  compelled  to  sit  down  in  ig- 
nominious failure ;  who  cast  glances  at  their 
classmates  for  underhand  help ;  bring  papers  of 
hints  in  their  handkerchiefs,  and  formulas  in 
their  hats;  yet  never,  with  all  their  devices, 
get  any  thing  but  the  credit,  or  rather  the  dis- 
credit, they  deserve.  Cyril's  ambition  was 
still  too  strong  to  do  that.  It  troubled  him 
from  time  to  time  to  discover  how  he  was 
slighting  the  purpose  for  which  he  was  sent  to 


THE  POPULAR  MAN.  55 

college.  He  did  not  like  to  give  up  all  that  it 
meant  to  be  a  good  scholar,  even  for  the  sweet- 
ness of  being  called  a  good  companion. 

But  there  was  a  better  thing  —  the  surety 
of  every  attainment  worth  making  —  that  he 
was  giving  up,  not  consciously  perhaps,  but 
thoughtlessly.  It  was  the  fear  of  the  Lord. 
Perhaps  Cyril  had  never,  in  truth,  followed  hard 
after  God,  —  set  him  upon  his  right  hand  con- 
tinually, so  that  he  could  not  be  moved.  Only 
while  he  had  lived  with  those  who  walked 
close  to  their  Master,  and  displayed  his  light 
and  beauty,  he,  too,  had  seemed  to  be  in  near- 
ness and  covenant,  as  his  kindred  were.  But 
now,  when  others  showed  no  devotion  but  to 
pleasure  and  selfish  gain,  Cyril  was  like  them, 
almost  in  every  thought.  True,  there  was  a 
Bible  among  his  books,  and  he  maintained  a 
decorous  regard  for  the  Sabbath,  and  gave  a 
respectful  assent  to  all  religious  opinions  ad- 
vanced by  chance  in  his  presence  ;  and  all  his 
companions  knew  that  Cyril  was  one  of  the 
small  —  too  small  —  number  of  communicants 
among  them.  But  where  were  the  outspoken 


56  THE  STORY  OF  CYRIL   HI  I' KM. 

horror  of  sin,  the  watchfulness,  the  humility, 
that  should  be  found  in  the  heart  and  life  of 
one  in  whose  love  the  Lord  was  really  first  ? 
Above  all,  where  was  the  service,  the  eager, 
involuntary  work,  performed,  hourly,  whenever 
opportunity  offered,  the  vote  and  influence 
always  for  the  right,  the  word  of  enlighten- 
ment or  earnest  warning  or  entreaty  spoken 
out  of  fullness  of  heart  ?  Ah !  what  allure- 
ment could  there  have  been  to  Cyril  in  the 
idea  of  being  the  most  popular  man  in  his  class, 
compared  with  that  of  being  the  most  useful, 
if  there  had  been  still  before  his  eyes  the 
beauty  he  had  once  discerned  in  forgetting 
self,  and  living  for  God  and  his  fellow-men  ? 
That  vision  had  no  power  now  :  it  had  not 
come  out  of  gratitude  to  Christ,  who  had  given 
him  salvation,  for  Cyril  had  never  yet  really 
felt  his  need  of  that  salvation. 

While  Cyril  suffered  mortification  and  dis- 
comfiture to  find  himself  losing  in  scholarship, 
and  while  a  vague  uneasiness  and  anxiety,  the 
unheeded  reproaches  of  conscience,  disturbed 
him  in  his  few  unoccupied  and  solitary  hours, 


THE  POPULAR  MAN.  57 

John  Seelye  was  day  by  day  tasting  the  proud- 
est and  sweetest  pleasure  he  had  ever  known, 
finding  himself,  in  his  studies,  rapidly  gaining 
ground.  He  had  suffered,  at  first,  every  dis- 
couragement, and  worked  with  such  self-denial, 
such  labor  and  patience,  as  his  more  fortunate 
classmates  could  hardly  have  imagined.  But 
now  his  way  was  brightening  with  hope :  the 
path  grew  more  smooth  and  easy,  and  the  pros- 
pect of  the  reward  was  becoming  more  certain. 
John  was  hardly  ever  seen  except  at  recita- 
tion, from  which  he  came  and  went  with  a  pre- 
occupied and  silent  manner.  Therefore  very 
few  in  the  class  knew  much  about  him.  Nollie 
Stavins,  however,  had  found  out  his  room,  and 
formed  a  friendship  with  him,  and  was  some- 
times laughed  at  for  often  quoting  and  praising 
him,  and  for  showing  vexation  if  any  one  by 
chance  spoke  contemptuously  of  his  slow  reci- 
tations or  his  shabby  coat  and  plain  face.  But, 
though  John  was  so  little  known,  most  of 
those  who  met  him  every  day  liked  and  re- 
spected him.  Little  acts  and  occasional  words 
showed  him  to  possess  a  kindly  and  an  honest 


58  THE  STORY  OF  CYRIL   RIVERS. 

heart,  as  well  as  an  independent  spirit.  Per- 
haps his  face  would  have  been  missed  from  the 
classroom  with  as  much  regret  as  any  of  the 
brighter  and  handsomer  ones  that  were  accus- 
tomed to  be  met  there.  Between  Cyril  and 
John,  there  was  a  quiet  understanding  of  mu- 
tual kindly  feeling ;  but  John  was  too  hard  at 
work,  and  Cyril  too  much  occupied  with  the 
pressure  of  new  engagements,  to  extend  the 
acquaintance  beyond  a  friendly  nod  or  salu- 
tation as  they  met  each  other  at  their  daily 
tasks. 


THE   UNWILLING  BOATMAN.  59 


CHAPTER  IV. 

THE    UNWILLING    BOATMAN. 

1  Happy  is  he  that  condemneth  not  himself  In  that  thing  which  he 
alloweth." 

7HE  first  .winter  of  Cyril's  college 
life  passed  away.  If  it  had  offered 
temptations  to  slight  duty  for  pleasure, 
the  opening  spring  presented  them  in 
double  strength.  The  country  about 
made  itself  beautiful,  and  attracted  to  walks 
and  drives;  and  the  soft  moonlight  nights 
tempted  to  late  loitering  and  talking  and  sing- 
ing under  the  elms.  But  most  irresistibly  the 
sparkling  waters  of  the  broad  river,  flowing  be- 
tween green  hills  and  meadows,  drew  the  young 
men  to  the  sports  it  afforded.  The  summer 
races  were  approaching ;  and  in  every  class 
there  was  excitement  about  the  selection  and 
training  of  the  competing  crews,  and  the  con- 


GO  THE  STORY  OF  CYRIL   HIVKUS. 

dition  of  the  racing-boats.  The  freshmen  were 
not  the  less  interested  and  ambitious  in  looking 
forward  to  the  contest  because  it  was  a  new 
thing  to  them.  They  were  zealous  to  show 
themselves  possessed  of  as  much  vigor  and 
enterprise,  as  well  as  of  as  much  unity  of  feel- 
ing and  liberality,  as  any  of  the  other  classes. 
Their  efforts  were  not  to  be  considered  juve- 
nile :  they  meant  to  win  success  and  glory  if 
determination  could  do  it. 

Such,  at  least,  appeared  to  be  the  spirit 
shown  at  an  informal  meeting  of  those  inter- 
ested, held  one  night  in  Tom  Raddon's  room 
to  discuss  ways  and  means  of  providing  a  new 
boat,  and  to  decide  upon  the  names  of  those 
who  seemed  best  qualified  to  compose  the  crew. 
Four  out  of  those  who  had  shown  capacity  to 
become  good  oarsmen  were  easily  chosen. 
They  were,  first,  Minor,  nicknamed  the  "  Ma- 
jor," a  thin,  gray-eyed,  close-mouthed  fellow, 
with  such  a  stock  of  quiet  willfulness  that  it 
was  thought  his  only  looking  at  a  thing  would 
make  it  work  according  to  his  mind ;  then 
Baum,  a  large,  rather  dull-looking  man,  whose 


THE  UNWILLING  BOATMAN.  61 

strength  was  all  physical,  and  lay  in  his  tre- 
mendous arms  and  shoulders  ;  Benson,  a  stout, 
merry  lad,  whose  muscle  and  energy  were  not 
worth  more  than  his  hopeful,  cheerful  temper  ; 
and  Sine,  a  fine-looking  fellow,  except  for  a 
certain  indifference  and  languor  in  his  hand- 
some face,  which  was  sadly  accounted  for  when 
he  hesitated  to  enroll  himself  among  the  crew 
hecause  he  should  then  be  obliged  to  give  up 
smoking.  But  about  the  choice  of  the  two  re- 
maining oarsmen,  there  was  a  great  deal  of 
doubt  and  discussion.  One  name  after  another 
was  proposed  and  refused.  Some  of  his  flat- 
terers offered  Tom's  ;  but,  to  the  great  relief 
of  the  rest,  he  promptly  declined.  He  liked 
yachting  well  enough,  he  said  ;  but  he  was  too 
big  and  blundering  for  a  shell-boat.  At  last, 
some  one  said,  "  Where's  Rivers  ?  Why" 
would  not  he  be  the  right  man  ?  " 

"  Just  the  one  !  "  said  Benson  :  "  where  is 
he?" 

Cyril  had  kept  away  purposely.  He  did- 
not  want  to  go  upon  the  crew.  He  had  not 
the  necessary  time  to  spare  ;  and  then  boating 


62  THE  STORY  OF  CYRIL  RIVERS. 

was  an  expensive  sport,  and  he  shrank  from 
being  constantly  drawn  into  such,  when  his 
means  would  not  allow  him  to  bear  any  portion 
of  the  costs.  He  knew  the  pleasure  his  com- 
panions had  in  his  society  gladly  excused  that ; 
yet  he  did  not  want  it  to  happen  any  oftener 
than  he  could  help. 

But  he  had  been  brought  up  by  the  sea- 
shore, and  loved  boats.  He  was  agile  and 
strong,  and  had  the  gift  of  inspiring  enthusiasm. 
He  would  make  a  valuable  member  of  the 
crew,  his  companions  thought.  They  must 
have  him  at  any  rate.  He  would  make 
boating  popular  with  half  of  the  class  if  he 
would  engage  in  it  heartily.  Some  one  must 
run  and  tell  him  he  was  wanted  in  Raddon's 
room. 

While  the  messenger  was  gone,  they  were 
debating  whom  to  choose  next,  when  Nollie 
Stavins  astonished  them  by  proposing  John 
Seelye.  Nollie  was  a  man  of  some  considera- 
tion in  the  boating  world,  because  he  owned  a 
beautiful  new  "  double-scull :  "  therefore  his 
sujjo-estion  was  not  scoffed  at,  as  it  would  other- 

OO 

wise  have  been. 


THE   UNWILLING  BOATMAN.  63 

"  Seelye  !  "  said  one  :  "  wliy,  what  sort  of  a 
man  would  lie  be  ?  " 

"  A  first-rate  man  !  "  said  Nollie.  "  He's 
as  strong  as  a  horse,  and  as  cool-headed  a  fellow 
as  I  ever  saw." 

"  But  he  can't  row  ?  " 

"  Yes,  he  can.  I  never  saw  a  fellow  get  into 
a  boat  like  mine  for  the  first  time,  and  manage 
himself  and  the  oars  as  well  as  he  did.  He's 
lived  on  the  Kennebec  River,  and  been  in 
canoes  and  all  sorts  of  light  boats.  Just  you 
try  him.  I'll  bet  you  can't  match  him  for 
strength  in  the  whole  class." 

"  That's  true,  I  guess,"  said  Minor  reflec- 
tively. 

"And,  then,"  continued  Nollie,  "he  isn't 
so  tied  up  to  tobacco  and  beer  that  he'll  be 
likely  to  give  out  in  the  middle  of  his  training 
just  to  get  back  to  them." 

"  To  be  sure  !  "  said  Sine  approvingly. 

"  Then  just  try  him,"  continued  Stavins, 
earnestly.  "  I  tell  you,  I'd  bet  on  any  thing 
the  most  forlorn  hope  that  ever  was,  if  it  had 
him  in  it.  You  see,  I  know  him,  and  you 
don't." 


C4  THE  STORY  OF  CYRIL  RIVERS. 

"  Well,"  said  Minor,  "  I  believe  we'll  put 
him  down  for  a  trial,  at  any  rate.  I  think  that 
he  looks  like  a  promising  sort  of  man  myself. 
But  will  he  agree  ?  " 

Nollie  had  not  thought  of  that.  He  could 
not  tell.  It  would  certainly  he  just  the  exer- 
cise John  needed,  but  very  likely  he  would  say 
he  could  not  spare  the  time.  Stavins  volun- 
teered, at  last,  to  ask  him  to  come  and  talk  the 
matter  over  with  the  fellows. 

By  this  time  Cyril  had  made  his  appearance, 
quite  resolved  not  to  accept  the  place  offered 
him.  "  I'm  sorry,  hoys,"  said  he,  "  but  I 
must  decline." 

"  Decline  !  no  such  thing :  we  won't  hear  of 
it!" 

"  Thank  you  ;  but  you'll  have  to.  There 
are  plenty  who  will  do  better  than  I." 

"  No  :  there  isn't  another  one  will  do  as  well ; 
you  must  go." 

"  But  I  can  not,"  said  Cyril,  unusually  res- 
olute. "  I  can  not  spare  the  time." 

"  The  time  !  "  said  Benson.  "  Ain't  you 
ashamed  to  talk  of  that,  when  you  can  get  your 


THE   UNWILLING  BOATMAN.  65 

lessons  so  easy?  Why,  man,  there's  oceans  of 
time  !  All  the  time  it  takes  is  a  little  run  in 
the  morning,  that  gets  you  out  early,  and  is  so 
much  clear  gain  ;  then  a  little  pull  after  morn- 
ing recitation,  a  little  exercise  in  the  gymnasium 
before  dinner,  another  pull  toward  evening,  and 
a  little  run  at  night  again.  It  don't  take  more 
than  three  hours  out  of  the  day.  Come,  we'll 
promise  you  shall  have  the  rest  clear.  We 
won't  come  to  your  room  to  bother  you,  nor 
tease  you  to  go  anywhere.  Say  you'll  pull 
with  us,  there's  a  good  fellow  !  " 

"  Oh,  yes,  do,  Rivers !  you  shall !  you 
must !  "  was  echoed  round  Cyril.  It  did  not 
move  him  much,  though  he  was  perplexed  how 
to  make  his  fixed  resolution  evident.  Tom's 
heavy  voice  at  length  broke  in,  silencing  the 
fire  of  smah"  artillery. 

"  See  here,"  said  he,  bringing  his  tilted  chair 
down  upon  its  four  legs,  and  sitting  upright, 
with  a  determined  expression  upon  his  counte- 
nance. "  I'm  bound  this  crew  shall  win,  and 
I'm  bound  Rivers  shall  go  upon  it.  Now,  I'll 
make  him  this  offer ;  and  he  may  accept  it.  or 


60  THE  STORY  OF  CYRIL  RIVERS. 

not,  just  as  he  has  any  class-feeling  or  not. 
We've  got  to  have  a  new  first-class  boat.  If 
Rivers  '11  help  row  it,  I'll  give  the  Major  a 
check  for  five  hundred,  and  he  may  go  clown 
to-morrow,  and  order  just  the  best  that  can  be 
built.  But,  if  Rivers  won't  row,  I  won't  give  a 
cent  for  the  boat.  You  fellows  '11  have  to  get  it 
up  by  subscription,  the  best  you  can  ;  and  the 
probability  is,  you  won't  have  it  to  practice  in 
till  within  a  few  days  of  the  race.  So  there  it 
is,  and  he  may  do  as  he  pleases." 

There  was  a  thunder  of  applause  in  the 
room  at  this  announcement,  —  cheers  for  Rad- 
don,  and  cries  of,  "  There  you  are,  Rivers  !  " 
"  Rivers  is  booked  now  !  "  "  Hurray  for  the 
new  boat  and  glory !  "  "  Hurray  for  Rad- 
don  !  " 

The  tumult  dying  away,  Cyril  was  found 
looking  pale  and  agitated.  Easy-tempered  as 
he  was,  there  was  something  in  him  that  re- 
belled against  what  looked  so  like  compulsion. 

"  You  don't  mean  this,  Tom  ? "  he  said,  in 
an  undertone. 

"  That  I  do,"  answered  Tom.     "  I'll  swear 


THE   UNWILLING  BOATMAN.  67 

to  it  if  yon  want  me  to.  What  do  I  care  for 
the  boat  unless  you  are  in  it  ?  You  can  go  in 
and  have  the  sport  and  the  glory  as  well  as 
not ;  and,  if  you  won't,  they  may  whistle  for 
their  boat." 

Cyril  stood  in  silence,  trying  to  overcome  his 
vexation  enough  to  think.  Which  should  he 
let  go,  —  his  personal  profit  as  a  student,  and 
as  one  who  sought  to  get  from  his  time  its  full- 
est benefit ;  or  his  popularity,  his  reputation  as 
a  man  of  class-feeling,  a  good-hearted,  gener- 
ous fellow,  ready  to  join  enthusiastically  in  all 
that  was  proposed  for  the  class-glory  ?  The 
offer  of  the  boat  was  a  great  thing.  Its  cost 
had  laid  a  heavy  expense  in  prospective  upon 
all  interested.  To  have  that  so  generously 
given  delighted  every  one,  and  appeared  like  an 
omen  of  victory.  Cyril  felt  that  he  could  not 
disappoint  the  fellows  by  a  churlish  refusal  of 
his  help.  He  must  give  way.  The  sacrifice 
would  only  be  for  a  few  weeks.  It  should  not 
happen  again  :  another  year  should  not  pass  as 
this  had  done. 

"  Well,"  said  he,  as  his  brow   cleared,  and 


68  THE  STORY  OF  CYRIL  RIVERS. 

his  smile  returned,  "  under  such  circumstances, 
I  suppose  there's  only  one  course  for  me.  I 
shall  have  to  join  the  crew  and  do  my  best. 
I'm  afraid  you've  sadly  hampered  your  noble 
offer,  Tom,  by  making  me  a  condition  to  it ; 
but  there's  my  hand  to  promise  you  I'll  do  all  I 
can,  and  thank  you  for  your  friendship  and 
your  generosity  to  the  class  with  all  my  heart." 

Tom  was  more  pleased  with  that  little  speech, 
and  with  the  smile  upon  Cyril's  handsome  face, 
than  Avith  the  applause  and  gratitude  of  all  the 
rest.  Afterward  he  said  to  Cyril,  in  private, 
-•"  You  got  me  into  college  without  a  condition  ; 
and  I  told  you  that  was  worth  an  extra  five 
hundred  dollars  to  me  this  year.  It's  no  more 
than  fair  now  that  you  should  have  the  good  of 
it." 

"  The  good  of  it !  "  The  words  struck  even 
Cyril  strangely,  since  he  knew  the  position  into 
which  Tom  had,  as  it  were,  forced  him,  was 
not  likely  to  bring  him  any  good  except  tem- 
porary excitement  and  pleasure.  But  neither 
he  nor  Tom  saw  all  the  meaning  in  those  words. 
The  <K>od  of  deceit !  the  fruit  of  lies !  What 


THE   UNWILLING  BOATMAN.  69 

could  it  be  ?  What  else  but  ashes  and  bitter- 
ness ?  food  that  was  weakness  instead  of 
strength,  a  gain  that  was  poverty,  an  honor 
that  was  shame,  a  pleasure  that  was  only  grief. 
Such  a  good  poor  Tom  had,  in  truth,  as  he 
said,  offered  the  friend  he  really  loved,  —  a  re- 
ward of  hours  robbed  of  their  best  gifts,  of 
many  temptations,  of  independence  exchanged 
for  popular  favor.  Alas  !  Tom,  your  friend- 
ship is  oppressive  and  dangerous.  Cyril  would 
not,  in  honest  manly  kindness,  remove  the 
stumbling-blocks  out  of  your  path ;  and,  all  un- 
wittingly, you,  in  turn,  have  set  snares  for  his 
feet.  "  Whatsoever  a  man  soweth,  that  shall 
he  also  reap." 

The  noise  over  the  new  boat  and  boatman 
had  hardly  subsided,  when  John  Seelye  came 
in  with  Stavins.  It  was  the  first  time  John 
had  been  in  so  large  an  informal  gathering  of 
his  classmates :  he  was  acquainted  with  but 
few  present,  and  he  did  not  know  why  he  had 
been  summoned.  But  he  was  greeted  with 
respect  and  cordiality,  that  gratified  the  soli- 
tary, hard-working  man  as  much  as  it  surprised 


70  TEE  STORY  OF  CYRIL   RIVERS. 

him.  Cyril  was  deputed  to  explain  why  Mr. 
Seelye  had  been  sent  for.  lie  would  gladly 
have  remained  in  the  background :  his  vexa- 
tion over  his  broken  resolves  made  him 
ashamed  in  the  presence  of  this  man,  whose 
respect  he  had  from  the  first  instinctively 
desired  to  keep.  He  knew  it  was  only  to  him- 
self that  his  agreement  to  be  upon  the  crew 
would  seem  wrong ;  but  that  it  did  so  to  him- 
self was  enough.  There  was  no  way  for  him, 
however,  but  to  put  the  best  face  upon  the 
matter  he  was  able. 

"  Mr.  Seelye,"  said  he,  "  we  owe  you  an 
apology  for  sending  for  you  so  hastily;  but 
we've  been  choosing  a  crew  for  the  race,  and 
AVC  want  you  very  much  to  try  taking  an  oar. 
Stavins  says  you  know  all  about  pulling  ;  and 
we  think,  if  you  will  train  with  us,  you've  got 
just  the  build  and  strength  to  help  us  win. 
What  do  you  say?  I  wish  very  much  you 
would  agree." 

He  added  the  last  words  in  all  sincerity. 
Nothing  could  so  have  comforted  him  in  his 
transgression  —  if  the  boating  was  for  him  a 


THE  UNWILLING  BOATMAN.  71 

transgression  —  as  the  company  of  upright 
John  Seelye. 

The  proposition  was  as  delightful  to  John  as 
it  was  surprising.  Such  a  token  of  confidence 
and  friendly  feeling  from  his  classmates  grati- 
fied him  exceedingly ;  and  then  the  prospect 
of  the  sport !  He  seemed,  at  this  minute,  to 
feel  the  handle  of  the  long  oar  in  his  accus- 
tomed hands,  and  to  feel  the  thin,  pointed 
boat  shoot  forward  at  the  pull  of  his  sturdy 
arms.  He  loved  the  sparkling  flow  of  rivers, 
the  sight  of  green  banks  gliding  by,  the  breath 
of  the  sweet  country  air,  the  freedom  of  the 
open  heavens  overhead.  But  what  did  he 
say?  The  brightness  had  not  quite  vanished 
from  his  face,  though  a  little  sigh  escaped  him 
as  he  answered. 

"  There's  nothing  in  the  world  I  like  better 
than  rowing,  Mr.  Rivers  ;  and  those  wherries 
and  six-oared  shells  of  yours  I  see  on  the  river 
would  bewitch  almost  any  man  who  knew  what 
a  boat  meant.  But  I  can't  make  one  of  your 
crew.  Thank  you  for  inviting  me,  though,  all 
the  same." 


72  THE  STORY  OF  CYRIL   RIVERS. 

He  showed  such  a  sympathy  in  the  sport  in 
which  he  denied  himself  a  share,  that  no  one 
present  was  willing  to  accept  his  refusal.  He 
was  overwhelmed  with  eager  entreaties,  that 
astonished  and  perplexed  him.  But  he  was 
not  moved  from  his  decision.  To  the  last 
"  Why  can't  you  ?  "  he  answered,  — 

"  You  know  I  came  here  a  poor  scholar. 
But  I  don't  expect  to  remain  so.  It  will  cost 
me  hard  work  to  gain  all  I  mean  to,  and  I  can 
not  risk  being  tempted  out  of  it.  That  is  not 
all,  either,"  he  added,  after  a  short  pause, 
during  which  his  avowal  of  industrious  inten- 
tions had  made  a  silence  in  the  room. 

"  What  is  it,  then  ?  "  asked  Cyril.  He  was 
impelled  to  ask  by  a  sort  of  jealousy  stirring 
bitterly  in  his  heart  at  the  sight  of  one  who 
could  be  true  to  his  aim.  He  must  know  in 
what  more  this  man's  behavior  excelled  his 
own.  But  the  rest  heard  the  question  too,  and 
waited  for  the  answer. 

But  John  seemed  to  hesitate  about  giving  it. 
There  was  a  slight  struggle  in  his  mind  before 
he  could  show  such  true  kindness  toward  those 


THE   UNWILLING  BOATMAN.  73 

who  had  been  friendly  to  him  as  to  express  his 
honest  belief  when  he  knew  it  would  be  dis- 
tasteful to  them.  But,  when  he  did  speak,  his 
manner  was  so  pleasant,  though  fearless,  that 
what  he  said  did  not  offend,  if  it  did  not  con- 
vince them. 

"  Why,  Mr.  Rivers,"  he  said,  "  I  know 
none  of  you  think  as  I  do ;  but,  to  tell  the 
truth,  I  do  not  want  to  train  and  row  for  a 
race.  I'd  do  it  for  power  and  speed,  but  not 
for  victory.  A  race  must  be,  it  can  not  help 
but  be,  a  temptation." 

"  To  what  ?  "  said  Cyril. 

"  To  over-excitement,  that's  nearly  as 
wicked  as  drunkenness ;  to  an  undue  ex- 
penditure of  thought  upon  a  matter  that 
ought  to  be  always  subordinate  to  our  every- 
day work ;  to  a  waste  of  money  the  poor 
world  wants  for  more  pressing  uses ;  to  ill- 
feeling  ;  to  swearing ;  to  betting ;  and  —  yes, 
even  among  gentlemen  —  to  cheating." 

There  was  a  silence  in  the  room.  It  was 
the  truth  John  had  spoken :  not  a  man  there 
that  did  not  acknowledge  it  in  his  heart. 


74  THE  STORY  OF  CYRIL  RIVERS. 

"  What,  then  ?  "  each  asked  himself.  "  Shall 
we  set  ourselves  to  judge  and  decry  the  long- 
established  practices  of  our  institution  ?  be  the 
wise  and  pious  freshmen,  whose  plea,  '  too 
good  to  race,'  shall  make  them  a  singularity, 
not  to  say  a  laughing-stock,  in  the  annals  of 
colleges?  Shall  we  give  up  our  chance  of 
sport  and  glory,  and  that  with  a  new  boat  and 
such  strong,  skillful,  enthusiastic  men  ?  Give 
it  all  up  for  a  scruple  ?  Why,  no  :  of  course 
not." 

The  silence  boded  no  sympathy  with  John, 
in  his  views,  from  any  one.  As  he  rose  to  go, 
he  said  cheerfully,  "  We  can't  all  think  alike, 
fellows ;  and,  though  I've  told  you  what  I 
believe,  I  never  supposed  you  could  all  agree 
to  it.  But  be  sure  I  shall  wish  for  your  suc- 
cess in  the  race  just  as  much  as  anybody." 

As  he  went  away,  Nellie  Stavins,  with  a 
serious  face,  rose  softly  and  followed  him. 
Cyril  looked  after  them  with  sorrow  in  his 
heart.  What  a  weight  and  hindrance  would 
have  been  thrown  off  his  life  if  just  then  he 
had  had  the  manliness  to  speak  out  in  support 


THE  UNWILLING  BOATMAN.  75 

of  John's  opinion,  as  with  his  insight  and  in- 
fluence he  might  have  done  so  effectively ! 
But  he  kept  silence,  arguing  down  the  noble 
rebellion  in  his  heart  to  agreement  with  the 
prevailing  notions  and  wishes  of  those  around 
him. 

"  What  on  earth  does  the  fellow  mean  ?  " 
said  Tom,  as  John  departed  :  "  that  we've  no 
business  to  race  ?  " 

"Exactly,"  said  Benson. 

"  Well,  I  declare  !  "  ejaculated  Tom.  "  And 
he  seems  like  a  pretty  good  fellow  too." 

"  Some  of  these  Down-east  fellows  have  such 
queer,  strict  notions !  "  said  another. 

"  They  generally  get  over  'em  after  they've 
been  here  a  while :  don't  you  think  so, 
Rivers  ?  "  said  Sine. 

Cyril  shook  his  head.  "  No  :  not  when  it's 
like  this,"  said  he.  "You  see,"  —  arguing  for 
himself  as  well  as  for  the  rest, — "there's  a 
basis  of  truth  in  what  he  said.  I  suppose  a 
race  is  a  temptation  ;  at  least,  there's  always 
just  so  much  betting  and  excitement  con- 
nected with  it.  But  1  should  say  that  was  not 


76  THE  STORY  OF  CYRIL  RIVERS. 

so  much  the  blame  of  the  race  as  of  the  way 
the  people  not  capable  of  governing  themselves 
go  into  it.  You  may  make  a  temptation  of 
every  thing  if  you  choose  —  of  eating  your 
dinner  every  day,  for  example.  No  doubt 
Scelye  meant  well,  and  had  some  ground  for 
his  assertion ;  but,  it  seems  to  me,  he  would  do 
more  good  to  just  enter  into  the  race,  and 
show  how  a  man  ought  to  go  through  it,  than 
to  refuse  to  have  any  thing  to  do  with  it." 

"  Never  mind,  Rivers,"  said  Sine  drily : 
"  you  and  I  will  do  that  part  for  him." 

Tom,  whose  mind  had  been  disturbed  by 
what  John  said,  as  by  a  sort  of  revelation, 
threw  himself  back  in  his  chair  with  a  sort  of 
sigh  at  this  settlement  of  the  question.  "Well," 
said  he,  "  all  I  know  is  this  :  I'm  glad  I  ain't 
the  one  to  show  you  all  how  to  enter  into 
temptation.  I  guess  I  wasn't  cut  out  for  that 
kind  of  work." 

There  was  a  general  laugh.  It  had  a  mock- 
ing sound  to  Cyril's  ears.  Tom's  blunt  speech 
had  upset  all  his  smooth  logic.  It  was  a.  relief 
to  all  when  the  conversation  was  turned  back 
to  the  business  of  the  evening. 


THE   UNWILLING  BOATMAN.  77 

The  crew  was  satisfactorily  arranged,  the 
new  boat  was  ordered,  and  the  men  began 
training  enthusiastically.  Cyril  entered  into 
the  work  with  as  much  apparent  zeal  as  if  he 
had  not  begun  it  almost  upon  compulsion.  He 
rose  early  for  his  morning  row,  he  ate  his  rare- 
beef  and  oatmeal  cakes,  took  his  regular 
rest  and  exercise  with  as  much  precision  and 
as  much  seeming  sense  of  the  importance  of 
all  this  painstaking  as  any  of  his  comrades. 
But  there  was  that  in  his  mind  which  merry 
Benson  and  Minor,  their  hearts  set  upon  the 
attainment  of  their  object,  not  upon  estimating 
its  value,  never  knew.  It  was  a  half-heeded, 
regretful  questioning  as  to  the  use  of  the  effort, 
an  occasional  passing  feeling  of  scorn  at  sight 
of  his  companions  innocently  but  so  earnestly 
discussing  the  question  whether  they  might 
drink  two  gills  or  a  pint  of  water,  or  whether 
it  would  do  to  use  butter  and  milk  with  their 
oatmeal  porridge.  Was  the  end  worth  all 
this  thought  about  eating  and  sleeping,  and 
all  this  endurance,  this  forcing  one's  self  to  a 
routine,  whatever  the  mood,  or  the  varying 


78  THE  STORY  OF  CYRIL  RIVERS. 

calls  of  the  day,  so  that  a  man  must  run  when 
the  clear  morning  brain  made  the  aspect  of 
books  beautiful,  and  go  through  grim  pulling 
of  weights  in  a  gymnasium  when  his  heart 
was  drawn  to  social  converse  with  friends  upon 
the  benches  under  the  elms  outside  ? 

Cyril  did  not  miss  the  fact  that  it  is  a  good 
thing  for  a  man  to  know  that  he  may  keep 
himself  a  bond-slave  to  his  purpose.  And  let 
me  say  here,  that,  in  describing  his  feelings 
about  this  matter,  no  one  need  suppose  I  would 
condemn  such  a  course  of  training  as  he  had 
entered  upon.  It  must  be  of  inestimable  and 
life-long  value  to  many :  it  is  all  that  has 
appeared  to  redeem  the  purpose  for  which  it 
is  undertaken.  But  I  condemn  Cyril  for  en- 
tering upon  it  because  he  knew  in  his  heart  it 
was  not  for  him  —  whatever  it  might  be  to 
others  —  the  most  profitable  exercise  to  which 
he  could  give  his  time.  The  unworthy  mo- 
tives, so  exciting  to  some,  and  kept  so  con- 
stantly in  view,  often,  in  his  secret  heart, 
disquieted  him.  "  That  a  man,"  he  would 
think  to  himself,  "  with  all  the  possibilities  the 


THE  UNWILLING  BOATMAN.  79 

days  hold  for  him,  should  give  himself  up  to 
his  conversion  into  a  race-horse ! "  There 
were  moments  when  it  seemed  to  Cyril  that 
all  his  fellows  were  governed  by  a  puerile 
infatuation,  an  ambition  that  might  have  been 

7  O 

expected  only  in  barbarians.  But  that  was  all 
hidden  deep  in  his  heart:  it  never  came  to 
light. 

Like  the  rest,  Cyril  gave  himself  up  for  two 
months  to  become  a  "  good  oar;"  slept  and 
ate  for  that ;  went  in  and  came  out  for  that ; 
talked  and  read  about  that ;  and,  like  the  rest, 
did  not  advance  much  in  learning  any  thing  but 
that.  His  face  grew  brown  ;  and  all  its  softness 
and  roundness  disappeared  in  a  hard,  spare 
look,  the  skin  drawn  closely  over  the  muscles 
and  swollen  veins,  giving  him  an  expression  of 
strained  hardihood,  such  as  some  weather- 
beaten,  much-enduring  pioneer  or  soldier  might 
exhibit.  His  shoulders  grew  broad,  and  his 
arms  powerful.  But  his  mind  seemed  to  lose 
something  of  fire  and  vitality  as  his  body 
gained.  It  might  have  been  because  of  the 
tax  upon  his  strength,  and  it  might  have  been 


80  THE  STORY  OF  CYRIL  RIVERS. 

because  his  attention  was  so  diverted  from  his 
studies,  that  he  often  felt  a  certain  restlessness 
and  impatience  when  he  would  have  devoted 
himself  to  his  Look.  And  then  he  was  so 
pressed  for  time.  Be  sure  if  you  lay  upon  the 
limited  table  of  your  day  all  the  occupations  it 
will  hold,  another's  thoughtless  hand,  or  your 
own  eager  one,  will,  before  long,  attempt  to 
crowd  in  something  more ;  and  then  some  part 
of  the  legitimate  burden  is  displaced,  —  pushed 
on  to  another  day  as  well-filled  as  the  first,  — 
and  so,  perhaps,  never  finds  a  place.  It  is 
better  to  have  a  margin,  lest,  in  trying  to  do 
all  that  we  might,  we  fail  to  do  all  that  we 
ought.  Cyril  had  completely  filled  up  his  time 
with  exercise  and  study,  hoping  to  make  room 
for  all  he  seemed  called  upon  to  do.  But  now 
he  was  surprised  to  find  how  entirely  he  failed 
to  carry  out  his  arrangements.  His  training 
went  on  well  enough,  to  be  sure,  for  that  was 
now  the  first  consideration.  But  his  study- 
hours  were  constantly  broken  in  upon.  The 
row  or  the  run  would  last  a  little  longer  than  it 
ought.  It  would  be  necessary  to  linger  a  while 


THE   UNWILLING  BOATMAN.  81 

at  the  boat-house  to  watch  the  upper-class  men 
coming  in  or  going  out,  so  as  to  compare  pro- 
gress ;  or  he  would  be  detained  in  interesting 
conversation  about  the  prospect  of  the  race. 
Many  a  time  he  found  himself  running  to  reci- 

*  o 

tation  at  the  last  toll  of  the  bell,  with  the 
unsatisfactory  knowledge  that  the  three  min- 
utes he  had  dared  to  linger  could  not  make  up 
for  the  thirty  lost  before  the  lesson  was  begun. 

Under  these  circumstances  you  will  not  be 
surprised  to  find  Cyril  soon  freely  using  the 
dishonest  help  he  had  not  discountenanced  for 
others,  but  which  he  had  once  scorned  to  rely 
upon  himself.  Benson's  "  ponies  "  found  their 
way  to  Cyril's  study-table  ;  and  even  that  dirty 
manuscript-book  of  corrected  Greek  exercises, 
that  Tom  had  purchased  from  a  sophomore, 
and  that  was  handed  about  for  copying  among 
the  idlest,  most  unprincipled  men  in  the  class, 
Cyril  did  not  now  refuse  to  avail  himself  of.  It 
was  only  for  a  while,  he  said,  and  there  was  no 
other  way.  The  day  set  for  the  races  was 
drawing  near ;  the  zeal  of  the  boatmen  and 
the  excitement  of  their  friends  and  abettors 


82  TIIE  STORY  OF  CYRIL  RIVERS. 

were  increasing  with  the  summer  heat.  There 
was  nothing  but  hurry  and  dissipation  of  mind. 
He  was  uneasy  at  his  course  sometimes.  All 
the  lessons  passed  by  in  those  weeks  were  in 
the  retrospect  like  haunting,  unfeatured  ghosts, 
every  one  pointing  to  the  day  of  examination. 
He  remembered  with  a  blush  of  shame,  too, 
Tom's  speech  about  entering  into  temptation. 
Ah !  how  Cyril  had  failed  to  show  himself 
one  who  could  endure  it !  And  yet  he  could 
argue  out  some  comfort :  others  were  more 
faulty  than  he  ;  they  all  thought  him  remarka- 
bly faithful  to  study ;  two  or  three  times  he 
had  refused  to  join  the  crew  in  plans  to  "  cut " 
recitation,  when  they  aspired  to  more  practice 
than  there  was  time  for.  Why  need  he  be  for 
ever  blaming  himself  for  what  others  were 
doing  without  the  least  compunction  ? 

Alas,  Cyril !  rather  ask  why  you  should 
stand  drawing  comparisons  between  yourself 
and  others  more  ignorant.  Cease  to  glance 
over  the  surfa'ce  of  your  days,  filling  your  ears 
with  their  thousand  voices  of  temptation,  and 
your  eyes  with  their  fleeting  lights  of  allure- 


THE   UNWILLING  BOATMAN.  83 

ment,  and  come  back  to  behold  the  truth  of 
your  life,  and  to  hear  the  decrees  of  duty  in 
the  depths  of  your  soul.  In  all  these  little 
errings,  you  will  find  great  transgressions. 
Your  carelessness  in  study  is  only  for  three  or 
four  weeks,  you  say.  Yes ;  but  in  those 
weeks  you  have  cheated  your  father  of  the 
price  of  his  earnest  toil.  Are  you  not  bound 
to  gain  the  utmost  from  the  privilege  he  is 
straining  his  powers  to  the  utmost  to  afford 
you  ?  It  was  no  mere  smattering  he  sent  you 
here  to  gain,  no  merely  civilizing  process,  not 
simply  a  polite  familiarity  with  classic  names 
and  languages.  It  was  thorough  culture,  the 
habit  of  patient  labor  and  thought,  the  mas- 
tery and  the  enlightened  use  of  your  powers, 
so  that  in  your  middle  life  no  one  can  look 
sadly  upon  you  and  say,  "  He  is  not  the  man, 
that,  with  the  best  development  of  his  facul- 
ties, he  might  have  become." 

I  know  you  have  written  to  him,  and  told 
him  of  your  new  engagements,  and  of  some 
of  the  things  that  have  been  crowded  out  of 
your  day ;  and  he  wrote  you  baclt  no  word  of 


84  THE  STORY  OF  CYRIL  RIVERS. 

rebuke,  —  only  sympathy  in  your  efforts,  and 
cheerful  wishes  for  your  success.  He  did  not 
tell  you  that  he  sighed  a  little  over  your  letter, 
that  it  cost  him  a  little  struggle  with  some 
vague  anxiety  and  disappointment,  before  he 
could  write  that  kind  reply.  But  he  could  not 
bear  to  have  you  think  he  did  not  trust  you.  He 
was  always  over-fond  and  proud  of  you.  He 
argued  to  himself  that  the  thing  was  innocent, 
that  it  was  never  in  the  nature  of  youth  to  be 
able  to  resist  the  charms  of  physical  sports ; 
and,  no  doubt,  that  was  to  them  a  blessing  and 
protection.  But,  because  of  his  indulgence,  is 
your  debt  to  him  any  the  less  binding  ? 

The  day  of  the  races  came  at  last.  Since  it 
is  natural  to  sympathize  most  with  those  whom 
we  know  best,  perhaps  you  will  be  sorry  to 
hear  that  it  closed  in  disappointment  to  the 
freshmen.  Their  failure  was,  no  doubt,  owing 
to  their  want  of  experience  in  such  matters. 
Their  splendid  boat  and  good  training  had 
given  them  a  fair  prospect  of  success.  They 
started  well,  and  soon  outstripped  their  natural 


THE  UNWILLING  BOATMAN.  85 

enemies,  the  sophs.,  and  then  the  luzv,  half-in- 
earnest  juniors.  But  they  could  not  match 
the  well-practiced  and  matured  strength  of  the 
senior  crew.  They  pulled  desperately  to  gain 
upon  them ;  but,  after  a  while,  finding  them- 
selves, instead,  losing  inch  by  inch,  they  be- 
came a  little  demoralized  by  despair  :  insensibly 
their  efforts  were  weakened,  they  seemed  to 
have  no  reserve  of  strength,  and,  at  last,  even 
suffered  the  boat  behind  them  to  get  by  and 
come  in  ahead. 

Well,  it  was  a  hard  thing  for  them  to  come 
in  beaten  and  mortified,  —  to  find  Tom  Rad- 
don  and  others  angrily  swearing  over  their 
disappointment  and  their  lost  bets ;  to  re- 
ceive the  condolence  of  those  more  philosophi- 
cal, and  to  see  how  crest-fallen  were  all  their 
lately  exultant  classmates.  Benson  actually 
flung  himself  upon  the  floor  of  the  boat-house, 
and  cried  for  vexation.  Minor,  pale  with 
anger,  without  opening  his  lips  to  friend  or  foe, 
stalked  away  to  his  room,  and  was  there  sick 
for  a  week.  Cyril  bore  the  defeat  a  little 
more  manfully,  did  his  best  to  comfort  the 


80  THE  STORY  OF  CYRIL   /.VT/./VN. 

mourning,    spoke    cheerily,   and    argued    from 
to-day  at  least  certain  victory  next  year. 

But,  in  the  following  days,  he  felt  the  reac- 
tion almost  as  overwhelmingly  as  the  others. 
He  seemed  thoroughly  wretched ;  mortification 
that  wras  very  much  like  remorse  was  in  his 
mind,  and  languor  in  his  overstrained  body. 
He  felt  little  inclined  to  make  the  most  of  the 
two  short  weeks  that  lay  between  him  and 
examination;  but  then  his  carelessness  in  the 
days  past  made  him  anxious  about  those  to 
come.  He  was  not  reconciled  to  the  thought 
that  his  stand  at  the  end  of  the  first  year  must 
fall  far  below  that  he  held  on  entering.  He 
was  urged  to  do  all  that  he  could  in  the  short 
time  remaining.  He  was  glad,  too,  to  shut 
out  the  throng  of  companions,  whose  faces  had, 
for  a  while,  grown  tiresome  to  him.  He  closed 
his  door,  therefore,  as  willfully  as  he  was  able, 
and,  battling  with  the  distaste  for  application 
that  vexed  his  mind,  set  himself  to  work  in 
earnest.  He  soon  discovered  how  much  more 
he  had  lost  than  he  had  supposed  possible. 
He  studied  desperately  all  day  and  late  into 


THE   UNWILLING  BOATMAN.  87 

the  night,  in  the  sudden  change  from  his  late 
regular  habits  trifling  dangerously  with  the 
strength  of  his  constitution.  It  was  a  wonder 
that  he  endured  to  the  close  of  the  term  with- 
out serious  illness. 

If  the  result  of  the  examination  was  hum- 
bling to  the  expectations  he  had  cherished  earlier 
in  his  college  life,  he  hardened  his  heart  to  the 
fact.  There  was  many  a  fine  fellow  who 
would  still  be  glad  to  rank  as  high  as  he.  Yet 
no  one  congratulated  him,  and  he  could  not 
congratulate  himself;  for  he  could  not  hide 
from  himself  the  fact  that  he  had  not  done  as 
well  as  many  of  his  friends  expected.  But  it 
would  be  a  happy  thing  for  him  if  that  failure 
in  scholarship  was  the  worst  he  had  made  in 
his  first  year  at  college. 


88  THE  STORY  OF  CYRIL 


CHAPTER  V. 

THE    MISSION    SCHOOL. 

"  Behold,  thou  ....  makest  thy  boast  of  God ; 

"And  knowest  his  will,  and  approves!  the  things  that  are 
more  excellent,  being  instructed  out  of  the  law. 

"Thou,  therefore,  which  teachest  another,  teachest  thou  not 
thyself  V" 

n       -J 

HE  long  vacation  was  over.  There 
\vas  a  new  bustle  in  the  streets 
of  Eaton,  as  though  the  old  city  had 
just  waked  from  a  siesta  in  the  noon 
of  the  year.  So  much  young  life 
received  again  into  her  bosom,  all  restless  after 
two  months'  liberty,  and  with  animal  spirits  at 
their  highest  in  the  beautiful  autumn  weather, 
must  make  her  feel  a  change.  The  very  elms 
overhead  seemed  to  sway  with  livelier  breezes, 
and  to  take  on  a  brighter  yellow  in  the  sun- 
shine. To-day,  the  first  Sabbath  in  October, 
the  old  chapel-bell,  for  some  time  silent,  once 


THE  MISSION  SCHOOL.  SO 

more  joined  its  peal  with  the  rest,  great  and 
small,  from  the  steeples  of  the  town ;  and  its 
voice  of  compulsion,  that  spared  the  ears  of 
neither  the  profane  nor  the  slothful,  has  gath- 
ered in  once  more  the  restless  congregation  of 
young  men. 

It  is  noon  now ;  and,  while  many  have  dis- 
persed, some  still  remain  in  the  chapel  to  par- 
take of  the  Lord's  Supper,  administered  at  this 
hour.  The  little  band  are  more  decorous  in 
attitude,  more  thoughtful  in  expression,  than 
the  audience  here  usually  appears  :  if  there  are 
among  them  those  who  sometimes  thoughtlessly 
sleep  or  play  in  church  as  irreligious  companions 
do,  they  are  now,  at  least,  subdued  and  serious 
and  penitent. 

If  we  look  here  for  old  friends,  we  shall  find 
Cyril  Rivers  and  John  Seelye.  John's  hard 
face,  browned  by  the  summer  sun,  is  worth 
noticing  just  now,  it  is  so  softened  and  en- 
nobled in  its  expression  by  his  earnest  devo- 
tion. Cyril  looks  more  than  a  year  older  than 
when  we  first  met  him  :  the  brightness  and 
confidence  his  face  used  to  show  arc  subdued 


90  Till'.   STOHY   OF   rrillL   /.VIVAS'. 


by  a  touch  of  melancholy  and  by  some  imvunl 
experience  of  humiliation.  He  has  come  from 
home  with  his  old  aims  in  some  measure  re- 
vived, but  with  a  better  knowledge  of  the 
strurro-le  it  must  cost  him  to  be  true  to  them. 

t*o 

He  has  come  with  some  sorrow,  too,  for  the 
shortcomings  of  which  the  past  year  was  so 
full.  Shall  we  analyze  this  gentle  regret,  born 
of  affection  to  father  and  friends,  and  of  the 
perception  of  what  gratitude  demands  from 
him,  and  of  what  he  owes  himself,  and  seek  in 
it  a  graver  sadness,  because  of  the  heavenly 
Father  whose  service  he  had  slighted  and 
forgotten?  Surely,  at  tins  first  hour,  when 
Cyril  has  come  back  to  his  table  to  feed  at  his 
hand,  such  a  grief  can  not  be  entirely  wanting 
in  the  young  man's  heart.  Else  why  is  his 
ace  so  troubled  at.  the  time  when  of  all  others 
it  should  be  shining  with  joy  and  peace  ? 

That  unusual  look  of  sadness  at  the  close  of 
the  service  attracted  John  Seelye's  attention. 
His  heart  was  full  of  love  just  then,  and  it 
was  drawn  out  toward  Cyril.  He  remembered 
how  often  they  had  sat  near  each  other  at  the 


THE  MISSION  SCHOOL.  91 

communion,  without  coming  any  nearer  in 
friendly  acquaintance  ;  and  lie  bethought  him- 
self of  how  many  temptations  must  beset  this 
younger  brother,  from  the  throng  of  flattering 
companions  about  him,  and  from  a  heart  re- 
sponsive to  the  voice  of  every  pleasure,  not 
chastened  by  labor  and  care  like  his  own. 
With  a  good  thought  in  his  mind,  John  quick- 
ened his  steps  so  as  to  overtake  Cyril. 

What  he  had  to  say  was  soon  explained. 
Fie  was  engaged  in  teaching  in  a  mission  Sun- 
day school  in  the  city,  where  one  of  the  tutors 
had  taken  him  upon  his  first  coming  to  college. 
More  teachers  were  wanted  there  ;  and  John 
asked  Cyril  to  go  with  him  this  noon,  and  see 
the  school,  and  perhaps  take  a  class.  Cyril 
was  a  minister's  son,  and  broiight  up  in  Sun- 
day-school work :  teaching  was  easy  for  him, 
with  his  natural  gift  for  speaking  attractively, 
and  his  familiarity  with  Bible  truths.  In  his 
present  half  homesick,  wholly  self-sick  state  of 
mind,  the  proposition  was  very  welcome.  Go- 
ing in  good  company  to  do  good  work  promised 
to  soothe  the  ache  which  his  conscience,  roused 


9'2  THE  STORY  OF  CYRIL  RIVERS. 

to  its  wounds,  was  keeping  up  in  his  heart.  It 
would  be  far  pleasanter  to  spend  the  noon  so 
than  in  his  room,  where,  if  he  tried  to  read,  he 
would  be  interrupted  by  classmates  lounging 
in  to  while  away  the  tedious  hours  with  un- 
profitable if  not  profane  conversation.  He 
acceded  to  John's  request  very  gladly. 

The  school  was  upon  the  outskirts  of  the 
city,  in  a  forlorn  region,  built  up  with  the  un- 
lovely dwellings  of  the  poor.  Here  private 
charity  had  erected  a  little  chapel-building, 
made  its  plain  ulterior  as  attractive  as  might  be, 
with  texts  and  colored  letters  upon  the  walls, 
hanging-baskets  of  flowers  and  evergreens,  and 
pictures  of  Scripture  scenes.  Here  were  gath- 
ered a  hundred  or  more  children  from  the 
neighborhood.  They  were  shabbily  attired, 
and  their  very  faces,  alas !  rank  after  rank  of 
them,  bore  testimony  to  the  certainty  of  the 
law  that  the  little  ones  were  learning  to  repeat, 
"  visiting  the  iniquity  of  the  fathers  upon  the 
children,  to  the  third  and  fourth  generation  of 
them  that  hate  me."  Here  was  presented  the 
sad  sight  of  a  childhood  without  beauty. 


THE  MISSION  SCHOOL.  93 

Even  if  by  chance  you  find  among  the  rest 
some  little  Marian  Erie,  whom  suffering  has 
purified,  her  thin  and  pallid  cheeks,  her  large 
and  eager  eyes,  are  too  pitiful  to  be  pleasing. 
Here  are  faces  whose  hue  shows  how  the  whole 
body  languishes  for  cleanliness  and  pure  air,  — 
faces  that  you  gaze  upon  dissatisfied  and  regret- 
ful, puzzled  with  searching  for  something  which 
should  be  in  them,  and  is  not,  or  with  wonder- 
ing at  that  which  is  in  them,  and  should  not  be ; 
faces  that  would  be  beautiful,  if — if  not  for 
that  unduly  developed  feature,  perhaps,  or  that 
premature  look,  or  that  sensual  or  sly  or  dull 
or  fierce  expression.  Ah  !  when  we  go  down 
from  a  happier  lot,  and  look  upon  those  born  in 
io-norance  and  sin,  and  wonder  to  find  them  so 

O  7 

far  from  our  standard  of  beauty,  let  us  think, 
that  with  such  sorrow  and  disappointment,  be- 
cause of  the  grace  and  glory  which  we  should 
wear  and  do  not,  God  and  the  angels  take 
knowledge  of  us.  Methinks  we  are  all  only 
poor,  careless,  ignorant,  half-listening  children 
in  God's  mission-school  ;  and  not  all  the  glory 
and  the  beauty  of  the  temple  he  has  built  for 


94  THE  STORY  OF  CYRIL  RIVERS. 

i 

us,  not  all  the  heavenly  love  and  sweet  plead- 
ing of  the  chief  Shepherd  he  has  put  over  us, 
can  win  from  us  more  than  a  weak  trust,  a 
fickle  obedience,  a  wavering  attention.  With 
what  long-suffering  patience,  then,  with  what 
all-trusting,  all-hoping  charity,  shall  not  we, 
who  are  ourselves  such  ungrateful,  erring  schol- 
ars, be  exercised  toward  the  little  ones  put  in 
our  charge  ? 

Cyril  looked  about  upon  the  school ;  and  his 
heart,  susceptible  to  what  was  fine  in  the  spirit 
of  any  scene,  was  soothed  and  pleased.  When 
the  opening  exercises  were  over,  he  was  given 
the  charge  of  a  turbulent  class  of  large  boys, 
newly  drawn  into  the  school.  There  was  scope 
enough  to  use  all  his  powers  of  pleasing,  and  to 
prove  himself  a  master  of  influence  in  keeping 
them  in  order,  to  say  nothing  of  instructing 
them.  There  was  fresh  pleasure  to  him,  then, 
in  finding  that  the  something  in  him  which  had 
attracted  Tom  Raddon  and  others  did  not  fail 
in  its  effect  upon  these  boys.  They  were  quk-t 
under  the  gentle  tone  of  Cyril's  voice.  His 
ready  insight  into  their  nature  and  ways  of 


THE  MISSION  SCHOOL.  95 

thought,  and  his  talent  for  illustration,  and  ver- 
satility of  expression,  enabled  him  to  put  what 
he  had  to  say  into  such  shape  that  they  would 
listen  to  it  and  remember  it.  It  was  only  a 
short  half-hour  that  he  had  to  talk  to  them  ;  but 
in  that  time  he  contrived  to  establish  a  friendly 
footing  between  them  and  himself,  so  that  at 
the  close  of  the  lesson  they  asked  him  if  he 
would  come  again.  He  was  willino-  enough  to 

o  o  o 

promise.  He  enjoyed,  more  than  any  thing,  his 
conquests  in  winning  love.  The  sadness  with 
which  he  had  left  church  had  departed,  and 
left  him  self-content  and  happy.  But  the  scene, 
and  the  exercise  in  which  he  had  taken  part, 
had  excited  all  his  religious  and  poetic  emo- 
tions, and  set  his  mind  working  with  many 
thoughts.  They  were  not  thoughts  of  himself, 
sorrowful  and  condemnatory ;  yet,  by  some  im- 
pulse of  the  wishful,  struggling  angel  in  his 
soul,  they  were  of  that  which  he  ought  to  be 
and  was  the  farthest  from  beinf.  As  the 

O 

thirsty  traveler  in  the  desert  beholds  a  mirage 
of  fair  waters,  so  his  spirit  was  imaging  forth, 
with  a  delusive,  temporary  gratification,  as  if  it 


9G  THE  STORY  OF   VY111L   A7I V.  V.'N. 

were  cnougli  merely  to  be  able  to  see,  the 
beauty  of  that  state  it  was  least  likely  to  attain. 
lie  was  not  sorry  that  the  superintendent,  at- 
tracted by  his  looks  and  the  apparent  enthusi- 
asm with  which  he  had  thrown  himself  into  the 
work  of  the  hour,  after  a  short  consultation 
with  John,  asked  him  if  he  would  make  a  short 
address  to  the  children  before  the  close  of  the 
school.  There  were  some  words  that  had 
been  read  at  the  opening  that  had  been  shining 
before  his  mind  ever  since ;  and  the  thoughts 
that  had  arisen  about  these  words,  because  there 
was  an  audience  about  him,  had  put  themselves 
into  the  shape  of  discourse  to  that  audience, 
It  was  often  so  in  Cyril's  mind  :  the  instinct  of 
expression  was  so  strong,  that  his  ideas,  as  they 
came  to  his  own  consciousness,  oftener  pre- 
sented themselves  in  the  form  of  dialogue  or 
address  than  in  any  other  way.  Therefore,  he 
went  up  very  readily  to  the  speaker's  platform ; 
and  when  he  stood  there,  and  looked  around 
upon  the  children,  there  was  that  brightness  in 
his  eye,  and  earnestness  upon  his  face,  that 
showed  him  to  be  at  no  loss  for  subject-matter 
of  discourse. 


THE  MISSION  SCHOOL.  97 

When  his  glance  had  drawn  all  eyes  upon 
his  own,  he  suddenly  raised  them,  as  if  looking 
away  through  the  low  roof  into  the  heaven 
of  heavens.  "  Children,"  he  said,  while  all 
the  wondering  glances  followed  his,  "  I  am 
thinking  of  that  wonderful  vision  of  which  we 
have  read  to-day :  I  seem  to  see  it  now,  —  I 
can  not  forget  the  words  of  it."  He  paused 
a  moment,  and  then  slowly,  and  with  great 
intensity  and  force,  as  if  he  were  indeed  the 
seer,  began  to  repeat  the  following  :  — 

"  '  And  I  saw  heaven  opened ;  and,  behold, 
a  white  horse ;  and  he  that  sat  upon  him  was 
called  Faithful  and  True,  and  in  righteousness 
he  doth  judge  and  make  war ! 

"  '  His  eyes  were  as  a  flame  of  fire  ;  and  on 
his  head  were  many  crowns ;  and  he  had  a 
name  written  that  no  man  knew  but  he  him- 
self. And  he  was  clothed  with  a  vesture 
dipped  in  blood;  and  his  name  is  called  the 
Word  of  God. 

"'And  the  armies  which  were  in  heaven 
followed  him  upon  white  horses,  clothed  in  fine 

linen,  white  and  clean.' ' 

7 


98  THE  STORY  OF  CYRIL  RIVERS. 

His  tone  and  manner  were  such  that  the 
eyes  of  his  audience  were  fastened  upon  him 
with  a  strained  gaze,  as  though  they  saw  with 
his  vision,  and  little  faces  fairly  grew  pale  with 
solemnity  and  wonder. 

"  Do  you  think,"  he  continued,  "  that  sight 
is  something  far-off  and  wonderful,  —  something 
you  will  see  many  years  after  death,  when  you 
have  gone  from  this  to  other  worlds  ? 

"  No  :  I  tell  you  it  is  the  story  of  what  has 
begun  now.  Who  is  this  upon  the  white  steed 
of  victory,  with  the  many  crowns,  the  eyes  of 
fire,  the  garment  dipped  in  blood  ?  It  is  Jesus 
Christ,  who  was  slain  upon  earth,  but  who  was 
raised  from  death,  and  has  come  again  a  con- 
queror. By  faith  we  may  see  him  now,  riding 
through  all  the  earth  upon  his  white  steed. 
His  eyes  of  fire  search  all  hearts,  and  many 
kings  call  him  their  Lord.  By  the  story  that 
his  blood-stained  garments  tell,  the  story  of 
how  he  died  to  take  away  our  sins,  the  story 
of  his  love  to  all  men,  and  by  his  word  in  the 
Bible,  and  his  Holy  Spirit  in  the  hearts  of 
men,  he  is  subduing  the  whole  earth  to  him- 
self. 


THE  MISSION  SCHOOL.  99 

"  And  who  are  these,  the  armies  of  heaven, 
mounted  like  him,  conquering  with  him, 
clothed  in  clean  linen,  pure  and  white?  Why, 
you  need  not  wait  till  death  to  see  their  bright 
array !  They  are  about  you  everywhere : 
they  are  the  good  men  and  women  who  labor 
for  him,  who  love  him,  whom  he  has  made 
his  servants,  and  equipped  for  the  war  with  his 
own  hand.  He  has  put  on  them  the  white  robe 
of  his  own  righteousness,  and  set  them  on  his 
strong  white  steeds  of  grace  and  redemption. 

"  Will  you  come,  children,  and  join  this 
train  ?  Would  you  have  the  Conqueror  help 
you  to  become  strong  and  joyful  servants  ?  and 
would  you  help  him  win  the  victory?  Pie 
wants  you  in  his  army :  he  has  called  you  to-day, 
by  the  teachers  who  have  told  you  of  his  war- 
fare and  his  glory.  And  I  will  tell  you  how 
you  may  join  his  ranks.  Not  by  going  to 
another  world,  or  to  other  work  than  you  do 
every  day  now.  But  let  each  one  of  you  say 
to  himself  earnestly  now,  '  If  he  will  help  me, 
I  will  follow  him  ; '  and  instantly  the  angel  of 
God  will  write  his  name  on  the  roll-call  of  that 
great  army. 


100          THE    STORY  OF  CYRIL  RIVERS. 

"  But  his  soldiers  must  be  as  he  is.  His 
name  is  Faithful  and  True  :  they  must  bear  it. 
You  must  try  to  make  it  yours.  You  must  be 
faithful  and  true, — faithful  to  his  command- 
ments, faithful  in  honoring  him,  faithful  in 
praying  to  him  and  in  working  for  him,  faithful 
all  day  long,  and  every  hour,  and  to  the  end  of 
your  life.  And  then  you  must  be  true,  —  true 
in  the  words  of  your  mouth  and  the  thoughts 
of  your  heart;  true  in  every  action  and  ap- 
pearance. You  must  strive  to  be  so,  and  beg 
him  to  make  you  so. 

"And  then  his  soldiers  must  take  up  his 
work.  What  is  it  ?  '  In  righteousness  to 
judge  and  make  war.'  Your  work  is  not  all 
like  his ;  for  he  is  to  judge  men,  —  you  and  me 
and  the  whole  earth.  You  are  to  judge  only 
yourselves,  your  own  thoughts  and  actions,  — 
to  judge  all  day  long  what  is  right  and  what  is 
wrong  for  yourself;  to  judge  what  pleasures 
you  must  not  have,  what  hard  tasks  you  must 
call  your  duty,  what  wishes  you  must  deny. 
And  then  you  are.  to  make  war,  —  to  make 
war  against  sin  everywhere ;  war  against  all 


THE  MISSION  SCHOOL.  101 

lying  and  Sabbath -breaking  and  profanity 
and  intemperance  and  covetousness.  You  are 
not  too  young  nor  too  feeble  to  begin  it.  Do 
not  wait,  delaying  and  looking  about  for  your 
steeds  of  strength  and  your  shining  garments  : 
God  will  supply  them  before  you  are  aware. 
Only  trust  him  for  that,  and  begin  and  follow 
him.  Do  what  little  things  you  can  for  him 
every  day :  keep  remembering  him,  and  wait- 
ing to  serve  him.  He  will  give  you  greater 
and  greater  strength,  and  greater  and  greater 
deeds  to  do  for  him ;  and  when  he  does  visibly 
come  in  glory  with  the  armies  of  heaven, 
surely  your  names  shall  be  numbered  in  their 
ranks." 

The  words  were  true  and  well-spoken. 
Perhaps  they  sank  deep  in  some  tender  minds, 
half-comprehended,  but  to  be  held  tenaciously 
and  revolved  in  thought  again  and  again,  till 
the  growing  soul  is  able  to  grasp  their  meaning. 
Perhaps  the  earnest  manner  in  which  they 
were  said  has  inspired  a  belief  in  things 
unseen  in  hearts  never  lifted  above  sight  and 
sense  before.  But  alas  for  the  speaker! 


lil-J  THE  STORY  OF  CYRIL   RIVERS. 

Alas  for  him  who  teaches  and  can  not  follow 
his  own  teaching!  for  him  who,  taught  in  the 
law,  through  breaking  the  law  dishonors  God  ! 
O  Cyril !  where  are  your  faith  and  truth  ? 
Where  is  the  watchful  judgment  you  are  daily 
passing  upon  your  heart  and  life?  Where 
is  the  stern  yet  kindly  warfare  that  you  are 
earnestly  waging  ? 

Perhaps  it  may  seem  impossible  to  some  that 
thoughts  like  these  to  which  I  have  described 
Cyril  as  giving  expression  could  take  posses- 
sion, even  temporarily,  of  a  man's  mind,  and 
yet  have  no  influence  upon  his  life.  But  it  is 
a  favorite  device  of  Satan's  to  flatter  a  man 
upon  his  mere  perception  of  the  truth,  so  that 
in  his  complacency  over  his  wisdom  he  forgets 
to  carry  it  into  action.  The  hearer  of  the 
•word  deceives  himself,  and  fails  to  become  a 
doer  of  it.  Just  as  Cyril  did,  he  beholds  him- 
self, and  goes  his  way,  and  straightway  forgets 
what  manner  of  man  he  is. 

At  the  close  of  the  school,  Cyril  found 
among  the  teachers  a  young  lady  whom  he  had 
previously  met,  —  a  pleasant,  lively  girl,  who  was 


THE  MISSION  SCHOOL.  103 

evidently  pleased  to  claim  acquaintance  with 
him,  and  who  introduced  him  to  some  of  her 
companions.  In  their  company,  engaged  in 
lively  conversation,  he  walked  back  to  church. 
His  old  happy,  eelf-complacent  frame  of  mind 
had  returned :  not  a  trace  was  left  of  the 
regret  and  dissatisfaction  he  had  brought  from 
home,  and  carried  in  greater  or  less  weight  till 
now.  In  talking  to  the  children,  he  seemed  to 
have  thrown  off  the  thoughts  of  duty  that  had 
oppressed  him ;  and,  for  a  season,  they  vexed 
him  no  more. 

He  sat  in  church,  his  mind  running  more 
upon  the  little  incidents  of  the  afternoon,  and 
the  conversation  of  the  young  ladies,  than 
upon  the  sermon  to  which  he  seemed  to  be 
listening.  He  went  to  his  room,  to  be  followed 
by  Raddon  and  Benson  and  others,  who  would 
commence  talking  over  vacation  experiences. 
When  the  conversation  waxed  altogether  too 
noisy  or  profane,  Cyril  would  try  to  quiet  it  by 
such  tact  as  he  was  master  of.  But  he  did  not 
make  honest  war  upon  it,  as  Seelye  would  have 
done,  showing  its  un suitableness  to  holy  time, 


104  THE  STORY  OF  CYRIL  RIVERS. 

and  setting  himself  to  win  them  all  to  some 
better  occupation.  There  lay  the  Bible,  hardly 
more  familiar  to  Tom  than  if  he  had  been 
born  a  Buddhist  or  a  Brahmin  ;  and  there  were 
the  books  of  comment  Cyril's  father  had  de- 
sired him  to  study,  to  help  him  discover  the 
depth  of  the  riches  of  wisdom  contained  in  its 
pages.  What  if  he  had  chosen  to  ask  those 
who  loved  him  to  study  it  with  him  at  that 
hour  ?  Might  there  not  have  been  something 
to  have  laid  hold  upon  their  interest  in  the 
lives  of  Gideon  and  Samson  and  Barak,  of 
Jephtha  and  of  David,  —  those  lives  that  had 
struggled  between  the  depravity  of  the  natural 
heart  and  the  aspirations  of  the  spiritual,  till 
the  victory  was  given  them  by  faith  ?  "Was 
there  nothing  that  could  have  pleased  Cyril  and 
his  friends,  —  nothing  they  needed  to  contem- 
plate in  the  tale  of  that  Young  Man  who  early 
was  tilled  with  the  thoughts  of  his  Father's 
business ;  who  was  holy,  harmless,  undeh'led ; 
who  pleased  not  himself;  who  gave  his  life,  at 
last,  a  ransom  for  many?  Why,  Cyril,  why 
have  you  not  more  of  the  spirit  of  him  whom 


THE  MISSION  SCHOOL.  105 

you  profess  to  follow  ?  It  was  not  all  with  him 
to  draw  to  himself  the  love  of  publicans  and 
sinners,  but  through  that  love  to  lift  their 
thoughts  with  his  away  from  earth  to  heaven. 
If  your  course  is  not  set  so  firmly  that  your 
companions  must  needs  follow  it  with  you  or 
cease  to  be  your  companions,  then  must  they 
draw  you  into  their  Avay,  as  they  are  doing  at 
this  hour. 

After  tea  that  Sunday  evening,  Nollie  Stav- 
ins  came  and  asked  Cyril  to  go  with  him  to 
church.  But,  before  they  started,  Tom  entered 
the  room.  He  wanted  the  solution  of  such 
problems  in  to-morrow's  lessons  as  he  could  not 
at  once  understand.  Cyril,  though  well  ac- 
quainted with  his  ways,  and  without  any  hope 
of  inducing  him  to  change  them,  nevertheless 
lightly  reminded  him  that  it  was  Sunday  night, 
and  that  he  could  not  help  him  make  such  "  a 
heathen  "  of  himself  as  to  get  his  lessons  now. 

"  Get  my  lessons !  "  said  Tom  roughly. 
"  If  you're  concerned  about  my  heathenism, 
you'd  better  be  glad  it's  only  that.  It's  the 
decentest  thing  I've  done  to-day,  except  going 


106  T1IK  STOni'  OF  Cl'IilL  11IVERS. 


to  chapel  because  they  made  me  ;  and,  if  it 
wasn't  for  these  problems,  I  should  be  down  at 
Toby's  rolling  billiards  this  minute  !  You 
needn't  look  shocked  !  "  he  continued,  seeing 
that  both  Cyril  and  Nollie  looked  disturbed  at 
this  reminder  of  his  bad  habits  :  there  are  dif- 
ferent ways  for  different  people.  You  were 
brought  up  among  the  saints,  and  it's  easy  for 
you  to  go  to  church  and  be  saints  ;  but  I  was 
brought  up  among  the  heathen,  and  I  have  to 
be  a  heathen  and  go  play  billiards." 

To  this  statement  of  destiny,  Cyril  said  noth- 
ing :  perhaps  he  half  accepted  it.  But  Stavins's 
face  flushed  with  earnestness.  "  There  are 
different  kinds  of  people,  Tom,  and  brought  up 
in  different  ways,"  he  said  :  "  but  there  is  only 
one  commandment  for  all  from  God  ;  and  that 
is,  '  Remember  the  Sabbath  day  to  keep  it 
holy.  '  " 

Cyril  would,  by  instinct,  have  spoken  the 
words  more  gently,  —  not  so  rebukingly,  —  so 
that  they  would  not  have  ruffled  Tom,  while 
they  convicted  him.  But  Cyril,  take  notice, 
did  not  speak  them  at  all. 


THE  MISSION  SCHOOL.  107 

Tom  scowled  and  looked  vexed.  After  a 
minute,  lie  declared  gruffly,  that,  commandment 
or  no,  he  must  have  those  problems  to-night. 
•"  Will  you  let  me  take  yours,  Rivers,"  he  said, 
"  or  must  I  go  chasing  round  to  get  Sine,  or 
somebody  else,  to  do  me  such  a  little  favor  ?  " 

Cyril  reluctantly  reached  the  papers  upon 
which  he  had  worked  out  his  problems,  and 
put  them  in  Tom's  hand.  "  It's  no  use,"  he 
said,  in  an  undertone,  excusing  himself  to 
Stavins  :  "  he'll  do  it  any  way ;  and  there's  no 
chance  to  keep  any  influence  over  him  at  all 
except  to  show  one's  self  friendly." 

"  I  wish  you  wouldn't  study  to-night,  Tom," 
he  said  seriously  ;  "  but  do  promise  one  thing, 
at  any  rate,  and  that  is,  when  you  get  through 
with  these,  not  to  go  down  to  '  Toby's.'  You 
know  he  keeps  that  saloon  open  Sunday  nights 
contrary  to  law ;  and  the  police  are  likely  to  be 
down  upon  it  any  time.  If  you  fellows  are 
found  there  you'll  be  sent  straight  out  of  col- 
lege. Keep  away  from  there,  Tom,  to-night, 
at  any  rate." 

"  Hang  it  all !  "  said  Tom,  as  he  hastily  took 


108  THE  STORY  OF  CYRIL  RISERS. 

the  papers  and  turned  away :  "  do  you  think  I 
dpn't  know  there's  a  risk?  That's  half  the 
fun  in  this  slow  place." 

Cyril's  effort  was  made  in  worldly  wisdom, 
and  it  produced  not  the  least  effect;  Stavins 
had  spoken  in  genuine  zeal  for  truth,  and  his 
words,  too,  seemed  to  have  failed  of  any  result. 
But,  in  reality,  they  were  still  uppermost  in 
Tom's  mind.  "  One  commandment  for  all ! 
one  commandment  for  all !  "  he  muttered  to 
himself;  "  and  that  when  it  would  be  so  hard 
for  me  to  be  like  them  !  "  At  every  interval  of 
his  work,  the  words  returned  to  his  thought  and 
made  him  restless  and  uneasy.  He  did  not  go 
to  the  billiard  saloon  that  night,  but  it  was  not 
the  fear  of  the  officers  of  the  law  that  kept  him 
away. 


THE  HEADY   WHITES.  109 


CHAPTER   VI. 

THE     READY     WRITER. 

"The  righteous   man   falling   down   before   the  wicked   is    as   a 
troubled  fountain  and  a  corrupt  spring." 

'YRIL  continued  his  attendance 
at  the  Sunday  school.  There  was 
much  to  attract  him  there.  His 
going  soothed  his  conscience  after  a 
week  of  selfish  occupations,  without  any 
thought  of  the  service  of  God.  The  tokens  of 

O 

love  and  confidence  he  won  from  his  class,  and 
the  signs  of  his  influence  over  them,  were  a 
perpetual  and  ever-new  source  of  pleasure  to 
him.  Their  improvement  in  conduct  and  ap- 
pearance was  noticed  by  others  in  the  school 
besides  himself.  It  was  owing,  no  doubt,  not 
so  much  to  what  he  taught  them  as  to  their 
admiration  of  the  teacher,  and  their  natural 
imitation  of  him.  He  was  to  them  a  re  vela- 


110          THE  STORY  OF  CYRIL   RIVERS. 

tion  of  a  life  possessed  of  powers  and  pleasures 
greater  than  they  could  have  dreamed  of;  and 
he  offered  them,  in  himself,  a  model  easier  to 
see  and  copy  than  the  Great  One  he  had  been 
set  to  show  forth  to  them. 

Besides  the  pleasures  his  class  gave  him,  the 
teachers  of  the  school,  co-operating  in  the  con- 
duct of  its  affairs,  afforded  him  society  of  the 
pleasantest  kind,  because  it  was  a  society 
enlivened  by  and  interested  in  the  joint  prose- 
cution of  a  useful  work.  Its  meetings  had 
business  that  concerned  every  member,  and 
drew  out  the  best  thoughts  and  pleasantest 
characteristics  of  each,  bringing  about  a  very 
agreeable  kind  of  converse.  Moreover,  Cyril 
soon  found  himself  as  great  a  favorite  in  these 
gatherings  as  he  was  elsewhere.  He  was  so 
full  of  spirits,  and  such  a  quick-witted  and 
graceful  speaker,  that  his  way  was  always  the 
popular  way. 

Cyril  had  begun  this  year  with  renewed 
ambition  as  a  student.  He  began  well,  and 
for  the  first  few  weeks  rose  rapidly  in  scholar- 
ship, and  fought  manfully  to  keep  clear  of  out- 


THE  READY   WRITER.  Ill 

side  engagements,  that  thick  and  fast  crowded 
to  claim  his  attention.  But,  through  his  friends 
in  college  and  in  the  Sunday  school,  he  had 
made  an  extended  and  pleasant  acquaintance 
among  the  livelier  society  of  the  place ;  and 
from  that  quarter,  as  well  as  from  the  solicita- 
tions of  his  fellow-students,  temptations  were 
continually  offering  themselves.  One  day, 
early  in  the  winter,  he  received  an  invitation 
to  attend  a  set  of  sociables.  They  were  to 
meet  fortnightly  at  the  pleasantest  houses  in 
town,  and  to  offer  various  entertainments, 
charades  and  tableaux,  music  and  dancing. 
The  young  lady  who  detailed  this  delightful 
plan  to  Cyril  was  sure  that  he  would  be  a  most 
invaluable  assistant  in  the  gayety,  and  had, 
moreover,  been  instructed  by  the  clique  of 
friends  with  whom  she  was  acting  to  say  that 
he  must  on  no  account  refuse  his  attendance 
and  co-operation.  It  did  not  need  her  earnest 
effort  to  make  the  plan  appear  attractive  to 
Cyril,  with  his  lively  imagination  and  social 
tastes  ;  yet  she  could  not,  with  all  her  pretty 
coaxing,  persuade  him  to  give  his  consent  to  it 


112  THE  STORY   OF   CYRIL  EIVERS. 

at  once.  Ho  was  evidently  sincere  in  saying 
how  much  her  plan  attracted  him ;  but  he 
declared  he  must  have  time  to  consider  it,  and 
that  she  must  not  he  surprised  if  he  refused  it. 
He  urged  his  studies,  and  the  pressure  of  many 
other  engagements  upon  his  time,  as  his  excuse, 
and  left  her  admiringly  impressed,  not  only 
with  his  good  looks  and  pleasant  manners,  hut 
his  devotion  to  duty,  and  steadfastness  in  resist- 
ing temptation. 

Uut  it  was  all  a  mistake.  Cyril  was  not 
thinking  of  his  duty  at  all.  It  offered  him 
a  good  ground  for  withdrawal  when  he  did  not 
like  to  tell  the  truth,  which  was,  that  he  could 
not  bear  the  slight  expenses  such  entertain- 
ments must  entail  upon  him.  He  had  in  many 
unexpected  ways,  not  wantonly,  but  as  it  seemed 
almost  by  necessity,  strained  his  father's  bounty 
to  its  utmost  limits :  he  had  found,  since 
coming  to  college,  so  many  more  wants,  and 
they  had  been  so  much  more  costly  than  he 
had  anticipated.  He  knew  he  could  not  ask 
even  for  a  very  little  more  money.  He  was 
willing  to  wear  the  best  suit  he  had,  though  it 


THE  READY  WRITER.  113 

was  rather  worn  and:  past  the  style ;  but  then 
there  were  the  etceteras,  —  white  gloves,  fresh 
neck-ties,  shoes  more  suitable  than  his  rough 
walking-boots.  There  was  the  occasional  ne- 
cessity to  pay  carriage-fare  for  ladies,  and  all 
the  little  incidental  expenses  with  which  society 
charges  its  favorites,  which  Cyril  had  experi- 
ence enough  to  know  were  constant  and  inevi- 
table. He  had  been  caught  by  them  before : 
they  always  counted  lightly  in  the  first  place, 
but  in  the  end  were  sure  to  amount  to  what,  to 
a  man  whose  every  dollar  was  spared  him  for 
some  necessary  purpose,  would,  at  least,  be  a 
matter  of  consideration. 

The  more  Cyril  thought  over  the  invitation, 
the  more  he  was  tempted ;  and  the  more  he  was 
tempted,  the  more  the  want  of  means  per- 
plexed and  baffled  him.  One  evening  he 
sat  in  his  room  writing  a  composition.  He 
was  a  fluent  and  able  writer  for  his  years, 
—  so  ingenious  he  never  failed  for  argument, 
so  well-read  he  always  had  facts  and  illus- 
trations in  proof,  and  so  imaginative  that  his 
pages  never  lacked  the  ornaments  of  fancy. 


114          TEE  STORY  OF  CYRIL  RIVERS. 

Writing  was  an  easy  task  to  him,  but  he  liked 
to  take  pains  with  it.  The  subject  this  time 
was  one  for  debate ;  and  Cyril,  to  please  him- 
self, had  written  down  all  the  arguments  he 
could  think  of  upon  the  most  favorable  side  of 
the  question,  and  then,  with  the  utmost  inge- 
nuity, answered  them,  one  after  another,  in  the 
essay  he  meant  to  read  in  the  class.  Pie  was 
engaged  in  putting  the  finishing  touches  to  this 
essay  —  which  would  be  called  for  to-morrow 
morning  —  when  Tom  Raddon  came  to  his 
room.  Tom  groaned  aloud  when  he  saw 
the  papers  upon  Cyril's  desk.  Cyril  under- 
stood him  with  the  vexed  solicitude  of  a  careful 
older  brother  over  a  careless,  stupid,  younger 
one. 

"  Haven't  you  done  your  essay,  Raddon  ?  " 
he  asked. 

"  Hang  it,  no !  "  said  Tom. 

It  was  Cyril's  turn  to  groan  now.  "  You 
said  you'd  do  it  in  season  this  once,"  he  said. 

"  I  know  it ;  but  how  could  I  ?  There 
hasn't  been  a  minute's  time,  if  I'd  had  oceans, 
instead  of  nothing  whatever,  to  say.  I  might 


THE  READY  WRITER.  115 

as  well  fail  again,  I  suppose :  I've  flunked 
every  lesson,  so  far,  right  through  the  week." 

"  You  can't  go  on  in  this  way  much  longer," 
said  Cyril. 

Tom  muttered,  that,  as  the»e  could  not  be  a 
worse  way,  perhaps  it  was  a  good  thing  that 
he  could  not.  Cyril  cast  about  for  some  motive 
that  would  have  weight  in  remonstrating  with 
him. 

"  Don't  you  ever  think  of  the  future,  Tom  ?  " 
he  asked.  "  I  thought  you  were  here  to  pre- 
pare yourself  for  political  life." 

"  So  my  father  said,"  answered  Tom  reck- 
lessly :  "  and  I  guess  he  was  right ;  for  all  the 
politicians,  as  far  as  I  can  see,  are  about  as  pro- 
ficient in  billiards  and  mixed  drinks  as  any 
thing  else." 

Cyril  was  vexed.  "  Stop  talking  like  a  fool, 
Raddon,"  he  said  quite  sharply.  "  Why  can't 
you  listen  to  reason  ?  you  know  it's  time  you 
did." 

Such  a  tone  was  so  unusual  for  him  that  it 
did  not  anger  Tom,  only  sobered  him.  He 
had  such  a  genuine  affection  for  this  friend, 


116  THE  STORY  OF  CYRIL  RIVERS. 

that,  when  he  saw  him  really  vexed  and  dis- 
turbed, he  was  sorry.  He  looked,  in  a  moment, 
curiously  humble,  subdued,  and  serious. 

"  Yes:  it's  time,  Rivers,"  he  said.  "  I  will 
listen.  Do,  if  yeu  can,  talk  a  little  reason  to 
me,  and  a  little  —  what  do  you  call  it  ?  —  a 
little  conscience  too.  I  guess  I  need  it." 

There  was  in  his  mind  at  that  moment  some 
good  longing  for  vital  instruction.  If  Cyril 
had  been  living  an  earnest  life  himself,  so  that 
his  mind  had  been  full  of  earnest  thoughts, 
here  would  have  been  the  golden  opportunity 
for  speaking  them.  Tom,  whom  he  had  sup- 
posed ignorant  of  the  very  existence  of  such  a 
thing,  had  asked  him  to  speak  of  conscience. 
But  there  was  nothing  in  Cyril's  heart  which 
prompted  him  to  make  the  right  use  of  the 
moment.  He  failed  his  friend  miserably. 

"  You  almost  never  study,  Tom,"  he  said. 
"  You  waste  your  time  awfully.  If  you  don't 
look  out,  you'll  be  dropped  from  the  class  at 
the  end  of  this  year ;  and  you  told  me  that 
when  your  father  sent  you  here,  he  said  if  he 
found  out  you  did  not  show  yourself  as  smart 


THE  READY  WRITER.  117 

as  the  rest  of  us  at  your  books,  he  would  cut 
you  off  without  a  shilling.  I  say  you've  got  to 
change  your  course." 

"  Oh,  yes,  confound  it !  but  how  can  I  ?  " 
said  Tom,  somehow  disappointed  to  hear  again 
the  same  old  story  of  caution  that  Cyril  was  so 
often  telling.  "  You've  said  it  a  thousand 
times,  and  I  know  it  as  well  as  you  ;  but  that 
does  not  do  any  good." 

"  Well,  you've  got  to  do  something  about 
it !  "  said  Cyril.  "  Just  cut  that  lazy  crowd 
you  are  going  with,  and  begin  to  work." 

"  But  I've  tried  it  three  times  this  term,  I 
tell  you,  and  it's  no  use.  The  fellows  won't 
let  me  alone.  Besides,  when  I  work  like  a 
horse,  I  don't  seem  to  make  any  headway  with 
my  lessons.  And,  confound  it  all,  what  is  life 
"worth  if  you've  got  to  work  like  a  drudge 
through  the  very  best  part  of  it  ?  I  tell  you, 
I  never  shall  have  such  years,  nor  such  good 
fellowship,  again  in  this  world  as  I  have  here 
now ;  and  I'll  enjoy  them  while  I  have  them. 
My  father  needn't  expect  I  shall  do  otherwise." 

Where  were  Cyril's  reasons  of  worldly  wis- 


118  THE  ,STO/?I'  OF  CYRIL   RIVERS'. 

dom  and  prudence  now  ?  Tom  had  out-argued 
them.  If  we  live  for  pleasure  and  the  gratifi- 
cation of  selfishness,  surely  it  is  best  to  snatch 
them  now,  when  youth  and  health,  and  the 
shining  present,  make  them  most  fresh  and  de- 
lightful. Cyril  sat  in  silence,  discomfited  to  see 
how  powerless  his  earnestness  had  proved. 

"  But  you  haven't  made  up  your  mind  to  fail 
utterly?  "  he  said,  at  last.  "  You've  got  some 
ambition  left.  Can't  you  see  how  these 
things  would  help  you  ?  This  debate-writing, 
now :  you  ought  to  practice  it  voluntarily,  in- 
stead of  shirking  it.  If  you  won't  climb  the 
steps  to  your  profession,  you'll  never  reach  it." 

"  Well,  I  did  try  in  earnest  on  those  things," 
said  Tom  ;  "  and,  to  judge  from  the  results,  I 
should  think  I  was  the  last  man  to  make  a 
writer  or  a  speaker.  There  wasn't  a  line  old 
M'Tafor  didn't  correct.  The  grammar  was 
wrong,  and  the  spelling  was  wrong,  and  even 
the  ideas,  he  said,  were  inexcusably  mistaken 
and  wrong.  Then  we've  had  such  subjects  ! 
I  didn't  know  any  more  about  them  than  about 
the  moon.  How  could  I  write  about  them  ?  " 


THE  READY  WRITER.  119 

"  Why  don't  you  hunt  up  a  little  informa- 
tion ?  "  said  Cyril. 

"  There's  no  time.  The  hours  go  off  like 
~  smoke,  and  I  dont  know  where  they  go  to. 
They've  all  gone  this  week,  and  this  talk  won't 
help  me  to-morrow." 

"  Here's  paper  and  ink,"  said  Cyril :  "  begin 
and  write  something  now." 

"  But  I  haven't  the  first  idea  what  to  write. 
How  do  I  know  whether  '  liberty  or  law  is  the 
best  educator '  ?  " 

Cyril  was  perplexed.  He  had  no  mind  to 
go  into  such  an  explanation  of  the  subject  as 
would  awaken  Tom's  interest  and  thought 
about  it ;  but  some  such  talk  seemed  imposed 
upon  him  if  he  would  save  his  friend  a  failure. 
He  was  thinking  how  he  should  throw  into 
condensed  form  the  main  thoughts  upon  the 
subject  for  Tom's  benefit,  when  the  latter  saved 
him  the  trouble.  Tom  had  drawn  his  chair  to 
the  table,  and  was  idly  turning  over  the  papers 
that  lay  upon  it,  when  he  came  upon  Cyril's 
rough  draught  of  the  arguments  to  be  refuted 
in  his  essay. 


120         THE  STORY  OF  CYRIL  RIVERS. 

"  What's  this  ? "  said  Tom,  as  lie  began 
reading  it  aloud ;  "  not  your  essay  ?  " 

"  No :  only  a  statement  of  the  other  side  of 
the  question." 

"  But  it's  good  enough  for  an  essay,  —  better 
than  the  best  I  could  write.  It  just  helps  me 
'out  of  my  scrape.  Sell  it  to  me,  Rivers.  I'll 
give  you  two  dollars  for  it." 

"  No :  I  don't  want  to  sell  it,"  said  Cyril, 
much  vexed.  "  You  can't  have  it :  M'Tafor 
would  know  at  once  it  wasn't  yours." 

"  He  wouldn't,"  said  Tom  ;  "  and,  if  he  did, 
how  could  he  prove  it  ?  Besides,  I'll  fix  it  up. 
I  begin  to  see  what  it  all  means,  now  I've 
read  this.  I'll  have  a  composition  that  can't  be 
beat.  I  shall  send  it  for  my  father  to  read. 
He'll  think  I'm  the  greatest  man  going.  Just 
hand  me  that  pen,  old  fellow." 

Tom  never  seemed  to  see  any  reason  why  he 
should  not  seize  what  he  wanted,  whatever 
objections  were  made.  Cyril's  feeble  remon- 
strances he  cast  away  like  the  wind ;  and  Cyril 
was  too  much  in  the  habit  of  yielding  to  him  to 
make  any  very  determined  resistance.  Cyril 


THE  READY  WRITER.  121 

did  not  want  the  paper ;  and,  though  he  had  not 
voluntarily  accepted  it,  yet  he  did  want  the 
money  Tom  had  offered  for  the  purchase.  He 
could  not  help  it,  he  said  to  himself,  if  Tom 
chose  to  cheat  himself  and  his  teacher.  Tom 
had  got  the  paper  in  his  hands  now,  and  would 
not  give  it  up  again.  Perhaps,  after  all,  it 
would  not  give  him  more  help  than  Cyril  must 
have  done  by  talking  with  him  about  the  sub- 
ject. 

So  Cyril  allowed  Tom  to  get  paper  and  ink, 
and  begin  copying  the  abstract  of  arguments. 
He  wrote  it  in  a  sprawling  handwriting,  which 
made  the  matter  upon  two  lines  of  Cyril's  man- 
uscript extend  half-way  down  the  page  of  his 
own.  That  was  a  trick  of  self-deception 
brought  with  him  out  of  childhood,  by  which 
he  once  fancied,  and  perhaps  even  yet  fancied, 
his  composition  would  appear  the  longer  for 
taking  up  the  more  space  upon  paper.  But, 
having  caught  from  what  he  wrote  some  inter- 
est in  its  meaning,  he  soon  began  interpolating 
ideas  of  his  own ;  and  Cyril  saw  him  biting 
his  nails  and  rubbing  his  hair  into  confusion,  in 


1^2  TIIK  STORY  OF  CYRIL  RIVERS. 

the  effort  to  bring  his  thoughts  to  expression. 
There  was  silence  in  the  room  while  he  worked. 
Cyril  finished  his  own  work  and  put  it  away. 
The  quiet  satisfaction  which  he  had  felt  about 
it  before  Tom  came  in  was  destroyed.  He 
was  disturbed  in  heart.  He  took  a  book,  and 
tried  to  read,  but  his  mind  wandered.  He 
must  needs  think  of  Tom.  He  wondered  why 
it  was,  that,  because  the  fellow  followed  him  and 
hung  upon  him,  he  must  feel  an  irksome  sense 
of  responsibility  for  Tom.  He  had  not  sought 
his  friendship  in  the  first  place :  why  must  he 
feel  guilty  at  the  thought  of  Tom's  getting 
into  trouble  and  disgrace  ?  Why  did  he  care 
any  thing  about  him  ?  and  especially  why  must 
he  feel  that  he  ought  to  care  for  him  much 
more  than  he  had  ever  done ;  be  kinder  to  him, 
yet  severer  with  him ;  do  more  for  him,  yet 
deny  him  more,  cultivate  his  friendship,  yet 
resist  his  ideas  ?  Cyril  had  done  violence  to 
this  feeling  many  times,  but  he  could  not  now 
dismiss  it  from  his  mind.  There  was  trouble  in 
his  conscience  on  Tom's  account  that  he  could 
not  reason  away.  No  wonder  it  was  so. 


THE   READY  WRITER.  123 

Those  whose  affection  God  gives  us  he  in  a 
manner  lays  upon  us  :  their  safety  and  welfare 
are,  to  a  certain  extent,  our  charge.  Does  he 
give  us  influence  over  any  one,  he  will  call  us 
to  account  for  the  power.  Have  we  been  too 
indolent  or  inefficient  to  exercise  it,  or  have  we 
done  so  only  to  amuse  and  gratify  ourselves, 
one  day  we  shall  be  called  to  confess  and  to 
mourn  over  the  misused  or  buried  talent. 
Nay,  the  punishment  will  not  wait  till  that  day. 
It  begins  with  the  sin.  The  clinging  object 
that  we  will  not  lift  up  with  us  toward  heaven 
will  draw  us  down  to  the  earth  by  its  own 
weight. 

If  Cyril  caught  a  glimpse  of  this  truth  as  he 
sat  musing  over  the  unheeded  pages  of  his 
book,  he  did  not  try  to  obtain  a  nearer  view. 
From  Tom  and  his  writing  his  mind  soon  wan- 
dered to  pleasanter  themes.  There  lay  the 
two-dollar  note  that  Tom,  asking  no  consent 
but  his  own  to  the  exchange,  had  laid  down  in 
place  of  the  essay.  How  strange  it  seemed, 
Cyril  thought,  that  one  should  throw  his  money 
about  like  that !  No  doubt  Tom  would  almost 


124  THE  STORY  OF  CYRIL  RIVERS. 

forget  he  had  paid  it,  just  as,  having  paid  it, 
and  so,  as  he  supposed,  made  the  essay  entirely 
his  own,  he  would  almost  forget  he  had  not 
originated  every  word  of  that.  But  that  note 
now  represented  to  Cyril  the  white  gloves  that 
helped  make  Miss  Kerlie's  sociable  possible  to 
him.  His  mind  wandered  to  thoughts  of  that 
bright-eyed  young  lady,  and  of  the  pleasures 
she  had  planned,  and  the  flattering  desire  she 
had  so  urgently  expressed  to  have  him  take 
part  in  them. 

His  self-complacency  was  restored.  In  the 
midst  of  many  pleasing  visions,  his  mind  soon 
ran  astray,  vanity  getting  the  mastery  of  it. 
So  that  at  last,  when,  toward  twelve  o'clock, 
Tom  held  up  his  finished  composition,  saying, 
"  There,  old  fellow,  I'm  gloriously  fixed  for  to- 
morrow ;  and  thank  you  for  it !  "  Cyril  an- 
swered from  the  midst  of  his  dreams,  "  You 
needn't,  Tom :  at  that  price  "  —  pointing  to  the 
note  —  "  I'd  like  to  write  compositions  for  the 
whole  division." 

O  Cyril !  how  could  you  say  it  without 
shame  ?  Think  what  it  is  that  you  propose  to 


THE  READY  WRITER.  125 

cover  your  hands  with,  that  they  may  be  spot- 
less enough  to  offer  to  gentle  ladies  !  It  is  the 
price  of  a  lie  !  It  should  seem  to  you  that  the 
whitest  gloves  bought  with  that  money  would 
turn  black  upon  your  palms,  and  that  any  true 
hand  would  instinctively  draw  back  from  the 
contact  with  yours. 

Cyril  spoke  as  he  did,  wantonly,  in  an  hour 
when  reason  and  conscience  had  fallen  asleep, 
and  vanity  was  uppermost ;  but  the  words 
brought  the  temptation  they  challenged.  Tom 
read  his  essay  in  the  class  next  day  with  a 
pompous,  boastful  air,  that  exceedingly  amused 
his  friends.  They  perceived  at  once  that  he 
was  not  its  author.  When  they  bantered  him 
about  it,  he  readily  told  its  story,  repeating, 
moreover,  for  their  benefit,  Cyril's  foolish  wish. 

The  consequence  was,  that  the  next  Friday 
evening  a  knot  of  idle  fellows,  unprepared  with 
their  essays,  yet  more  in  jest  than  in  earnest, 
betook  themselves  to  Cyril's  room.  "  Riv- 
ers !  "  they  cried,  entering  with  a  great  noise 
of  talk  and  laughter,  "  behold  your  fellow-men 
in  trouble  !  We've  come  for  help !  " 


126  THE  STORY  OF  CYRIL  RIVERS. 

"  What's  wanted  ?  "  cried  Cyril  cheerfullly 
looking  up  from  his  book. 

"  We  want  you  to  write  us  each  a  composi 
tion,  as  you  did  Raddon." 

Cyril  was  taken  by  surprise.  His  faco 
clouded  a  little.  "  One,  two,  three,  four, 
five!"  lie  said,  counting:  "five  of  you  that 
haven't  written  your  essays  !  What  a  division 
ours  is  !  I  wonder  you  ain't  ashamed  to  give  it 
such  a  reputation  for  '  flunking.' ' 

"  We  are,"  said  Sine  readily  ;  "  for  the 
honor  of  the  division  don't  let  us  go  up  to  old 
M'Tafor  empty-handed !  We  don't  want  to 
disgrace  it  so." 

"Empty-handed!"  said  Cyril:  "that's  one 
thing ;  but  empty-headed  is  another  !  I  could 
not  help  that,  you  know,  if  I  was  to  try." 

"  No :.  we  wouldn't  ask  it ;  but  won't  you 
write  our  essays  for  us  ?  We'll  plank  you 
down  a  dollar  apiece  if  you  will.  Say,  now  !  " 

"  You  really  suppose,"  said  Cyril,  "  that  I 
can  write  five  original  essays,  diverse  in  style 
and  sentiment,  for  you  lazy  fellows  ?  " 

"  Lazy  fellows  !    hear  the  ingrate  !  "    cried 


THE  READY  WRITER.  127 

Benson.  "  Remember  this,  Uivers,"  and,  put- 
ting on  the  manner  of  his  teacher,  he  began  to 
quote  some  of  his  words  to  the  class  :  "  '  The 
advantage  of  practice  in  this  kind  of  writing 
can  hardly  be  estimated.  It  furnishes  a  man 
with  a  sort  of  gauge  of  his  acquirements 
and  his  command  of  them.  It  gives  ease  of 
expression,  readiness,  ingenuity,  and  clearness 
in  argument,  and  affords  a  motive  for  gaining 
useful  information  upon  the  topics  discussed." 
See,  then,  what  we  offer  you,  thoughtless 
youth !  One  essay  is  such  a  benefit,  and  we 
give  you  the  chance  to  write  five !  You 
couldn't  be  so  blind  to  your  own  advantage  as 
to  refuse ! " 

Cyril  laughed,  and  yet  his  quick,  selfish  wis- 
dom caught  in  earnest  the  idea  so  jestingly 
offered.  He  was  silent  a  moment ;  and  then  he 
said,  rather  soberly,  "  Well,  fellows,  that's  not 
such  nonsense  after  all.  I  should  think  it 
would  be  a  vdty  curious  exercise  to  write  six 
different  essays  on  the  same  subject,  and  see 
how  nearly  you  could  suit  each  one  to  the  man 
you  wrote  it  for.  I'd  just  like  to  try  it  to  see 
what  I  could  do." 


128  THE  STORY  OF  CTRIL  RIVERS. 

"  Oh,  do  !  "  cried  Benson  in  delight.  "  You 
can  do  it  as  easy  as  fun.  What  a  joke  on  old 
M'Tafor  !  and  what  luck  for  us  boys  !  " 

"  But  can  he  really  do  it  ?  "  asked  Baum 
incredulously.  "  Five  essays  on  the  same  sub- 
ject !  Avhy,  I  don't  believe  anybody  could  !  " 

"  He  isn't  like  you,  you  stupid !  "  answered 
Benson  :  "  he  can  do  any  thing  in  the  writing 
line  ! " 

"  Only  there's  so  short  a  time,"  said  Cyril ; 
"  only  between  now  and  to-morrow  morning. 
I  don't  know  that  I  want  to  lose  my  night's 
sleep  for  a  joke,  or  an  experiment,  either." 

"  But  think  of  the  five  dollars  ! "  said  Benson  : 
"you  said  the  other  day  you  wanted  some 
money." 

"  So  I  do,"  said  Cyril  frankly.  "  To  tell 
the  truth,  fellows,  I've  got  to  have  some,  or  lose 
half  the  fun  that  goes  on  this  winter.  So  clear 
out,  and  I'll  see  what  I  can  do  for  you.  Only, 
mind,  I  don't  make  any  promises  ;  and,  if  you 
don't  like  what  you  get,  you  needn't  complain." 

'•  All  right,"  said  Benson.  "No  danger  of 
that  !  The  luck's  too  good  to  be  believed !  " 


THE  READY   WHITER.  129 

"  Write  mine  first,"  he  turned  to  say,  as 
they  were  going  out  the  door.  "  No,  mine 
first !  "  cried  the  others ;  and  then  some  one 
began  appropriately  to  sing,  — 

"  So  say  we  all  of  us, 
So  say  we  all ; " 

and  to  that  song  they  marched  away. 

Cyril,  left  alone,  smothered  uneasy  reflec- 
tions by  setting  himself  to  his  task.  He  for- 
got its  unlawfulness,  because  it  interested  his 
fancy,  and  gave  him  room  to  exercise  his  inge- 
nuity and  imitative  skill.  He  found  the  work 
not  so  hard  as  he  had  expected.  His  best 
ideas  were  not  needed  in  any  of  the  composi- 
tions he  was  writing  now ;  for  the  men  he  wrote 
for  were  none  of  them  as  well  informed  or  as 
accustomed  to  thinking  as  himself.  He  took 
some  of  the  surface  thoughts,  and  put  them 
into  such  a  form  of  expression  as  he  knew  the 
pretended  authors  would  be  likely  to  make  use 
of;  in  one  case  setting  them  forth  abruptly  and 
in  disorder ;  in  another,  spinning  them  out  with 
empty  and  unmeaning  phrases ;  in  a  third, 


130  THE  STORY  OF  CYRIL  RIVERS. 

han<nn<r  them   over  with    flaunting  flowers  of 

O        O  O 

rhetoric,  or  swelling  them  into  splurgy  flights 
of  sounding  sentences.  The  work  began  to 
afford  him  extreme  amusement.  He  smiled  to 
himself,  and  sometimes  laughed  aloud,  as  some 
expression  that  was  exactly  characteristic  of  the 
man  he  was  writing  for  occurred  to  him. 
Every  paper  that  he  laid  by  was  a  triumph  of 
wit  and  skill  that  delighted  him.  He  could 
imagine  the  applause  his  clever  work  would 
bring  him,  and  the  sly  mirth  among  the  young 
men  in  the  class-room,  to-morrow,  at  the  tutor's 
deception,  and  no  less  at  the  expense  of  the 
unconscious  readers,  whose  peculiarities  he  had 
so  happily  hit  off  in  those  five  characteristic 
essays. 

As  he  finished  and  folded  the  last  one,  the 
clock  in  the  chapel  tower  was  striking  two. 
He  leaned  back  in  his  chair,  smiling  in  compla- 
cent revery.  He  thought  he  had  done  one  of 
the  cleverest  things  of  his  whole  college  course. 
Nor  did  the  remembrance  of  the  five  dollars 
he  was  to  be  paid  for  his  work  discontent  him. 
It  opened  to  him  fancies  of  triumphs  sweeter 


THE  READY  WRITER.  131 

than  even  those  among  his  classmates,  —  the 
triumphs  of  a  favorite  in  gay  society.  How 
easily  we  are  satisfied  to  measure  ourselves  by 
the  light  words  of  flattery  the  world  will  give 
us !  to  exaggerate  m  fancy  its  delight  in  our 

oo  «/  o 

society,  and  its  opinion  of  our  attractiveness 
and  brilliancy !  Have  you  ever  seen,  dear 
reader,  some  poor  inmate  of  a  mad-house  who 
fancied  himself  a  monarch,  who  called  his  fan- 
tastic rags  silk  and  ermine,  his  tinsel-decked 
staff  a  scepter,  and  his  pasteboard  tiara  a  golden 
crown  ?  who,  complacent  in  his  fancied  state, 
smiled  down  with  condescension  upon  all  other 
men?  How  little  in  hours  of  vanity  do  we 
differ  from  him  !  Give  the  mind,  so  well  gov- 
erned, a  little  flattery,  even  a  little  deserved 
praise,  a  manifestation  of  unusual  love,  a 
glimpse  of  some  small  success,  and  straightway 
we  sit  down  like  the  madman,  and  inflate  the 
plain  and  ordinary  circumstances  of  our  lives 
into  airy  castles,  and  enthrone  therein  ourselves, 
glorified  with  wonderful  wit,  goodness,  and 
beauty,  and  surrounded  with  the  admiring 
homage  and  deep  devotion  of  many  lovers  and 


132  THE  STORY  OF  CYRIL  R2FERS. 

friends.  We  say  to  ourselves  at  such  times, 
"  I  am  more  fortunate  than  other  men,  better 
gifted ;  mj  judgment  is  so  good,  my  disposition 
is  so  sweet,  I  win  admiration  without  an  effort." 
When  we  are  tranced  in  such  foolish  happiness, 
Avith  more  pity  than  we  look  upon  the  madman, 
God,  who  knows  in  truth  how  miserable  and 
blind  and  wanting  in  all  things  we  are,  looks 
down  upon  us  ;  and  upon  sucli  hours,  when 
the  humiliation  sure  to  come  has  opened  our 
eyes,  with  what  scorn  and  shame  do  we  look 
back! 

Into  such  an  infatuation  of  vanity,  Cyril  had 
fallen, — an  infatuation  in  which  men  have 
many  times  been  liars  and  cheats,  and  gone 
about  afterward  with  complacent  minds,  aston- 
ished to  hear  the  world  call  them  reprobates. 
Cyril  was  dazzled  by  looking  at  his  own  gifts 
more  than  at  the  fullness  of  the  Giver.  He 
went  to  bed  prayerless  that  night ;  for  he  felt 
no  need  of  prayer. 


PLEASURE   WON,  AND  HONOR  LOST,     133 


CHAPTER  VII. 

PLEASURE   WON,    AND    HONOR   LOST. 
"  The  end  of  that  mirth  is  heaviness." 

TILL  under  the  influence  of  such 
a  mood  as  I  have  described  in 
the  last  chapter,  increased  by  the  suc- 
cess of  his  essays,  and  the  wonder 
and  amusement  of  his  classmates  over 
them,  Cyril  went  the  next  evening  to  see  Miss 
Kerlie.  Behold  him  happily  at  home  in  the 
beautiful  drawing-room,  ensconced  in  a  luxuri- 
ous easy-chair  by  the  piano,  where  the  young 
lady  entertains  him,  now  with  a  little  music, 
and  now  with  lively  chat,  and  all  the  while 
with  the  sight  of  her  pretty  dress,  and  animated, 
smiling  face.  She  is  telling  him  of  her  plans 
for  the  party,  with  which  she  is  to  open  the 
series  that  Cyril  has  promised  to  attend.  It  is 
to  be  a  charade-party  ;  but  she  wishes  to  make 


134  THE  STORY  OF  CYRIL   RIVERS. 

it  altogether  original  and  brilliant,  arranged  so 
as  to  be  as  interesting  to  the  audience  as  to 
the  actors.  But  she  has  thought  over  it  so 
much,  and  considered  so  many  plans,  that  she 
is  quite  worried  and  confused,  and  can  not 
decide  which  to  adopt.  She  wishes  Mr.  Rivers 
would  give  her  the  help  of  his  judgment.  She 
is  sure  he  has  taste  and  skill  in  such  matters, 
and  could  help  her  make  the  affair  a  perfect 
success. 

Cyril  is  nothing  loth,  and  they  look  over  the 
charade-books  together.  It  appears  to  Cyril 
that  the  most  satisfactory  plays  his  companion 
has  been  able  to  discover  are  not  as  original  or 
as  pretty  and  witty  as  she  could  wish  them  to 
be.  The  wish  to  please  her  sets  his  imagina- 
tion at  work ;  and  some  bright  ideas  upon  which 
to  get  up  an  evening's  entertainment,  superior 
to  any  of  those  mentioned  in  the  book,  come  into 
his  mind.  He  lays  them  before  her  as  attract- 
ively as  he  knows  how.  She  is  delighted,  and 
casts  away  her  book  at  once.  Mr.  Rivers  has 
described  exactly  what  she  was  in  search  of. 
It  would  be  charming.  If  he  can  help  her  get 


PLEASURE   WON,  AND  HONOR  LOST.     135 

up  something  of  that  kind,  how  much  obliged 
to  him  she  shall  be !  So,  when  the  evening 
had  been  passed  in  pleasant  discussion,  Cyril 
goes  away  engaged  to  write  Miss  Kerlie's 
charades. 

His  mind  is  working  over  them  all  the  way 
home  :  it  is  full  of  pretty  fancies,  and  odd  and 
bright  conceits.  Though  it  is  ten  o'clock  on 
Saturday  night  when  he  reaches  his  room,  he 
loses  no  time  in  getting  pen  and  paper  to  give 
his  thoughts  shape  in  words.  Midnight  comes 
upon  him  while  he  is  still  absorbed  in  the  work. 
He  lingers  over  it,  and  can  not  bear  to  put  it 
aside,  though  the  first  hours  of  the  Sabbath 
have  arrived.  He  does  not  put  it  out  of  his 
mind.  He  dreams  over  it ;  and  when  he  wakes 
late  the  next  morning,  and  hurries  through  his 
toilet  while  the  prayer-bell  is  ringing  its  last 
peals,  his  thoughts  revert  again  to  the  work 
they  hardly  left  when  he  fell  asleep. 

He  is  languid  and  tired  this  morning,  and 
has  a  feeling,  which  makes  him  vexed  and 
peevish,  of  having  but  little  control  over  mind 
or  body.  His  feet  stumble  upon  the  stairs  ;  his 


136  THE  STORY  OF  CYRIL  RIVERS. 

1  Kinds  fumble  in  trying  to  find  the  place  in  the 
hymn-book  ;  his  head  and  eyes  are  heavy  ;  and 
his  thoughts,  how  they  will  run  upon  things  he 
should  forget  at  this  hour !  He  can  not  listen 

O 

to  the  Scripture  or  the  prayer.  Miss  Kerlie's 
bright  parlor,  her  conversation,  her  charades, 
will  occupy  his  imagination  in  spite  of  all  his 
efforts,  till  he  almost  hates  them  for  haunting 
him  so.  It  is  partly  the  want  of  sleep  that  ails 
Cyril :  he  has  defrauded  himself  of  rest  almost 
every  night  this  Aveek ;  and  he  must  pay  the 
penalty  mentally  and  physically.  But  he  suf- 
fers no  less  in  temper  from  having  for  a  while 
lost  the  government  of  his  mind  in  giving  him- 
self up  to  the  pleasing  delusions  of  vanity. 
There  is  dissipation  without  the  wine-cup,  or 
the  gaming-table,  or  noisy  companions.  All 
those  fall  into  it  who  lose  the  rule  over  them- 
selves in  any  feeling,  whether  of  anxiety,  love, 
covetousness,  or  self-complacency.  Diminish- 
ing of  strength  and  scattering  of  powers  are 
always  its  sad  consequences ;  and  all  are  liable 
to  them  whose  lives  are  not  bound  steadfastly 
back  to  the  Giver's,  made  hourly  subject  to  his 
laws,  and  recipients  of  his  grace. 


PLEASURE   WON,  AND  HONOR  LOST.     137 

That  Sunday  was  a  restless  day  of  discontent 
to  Cyril.  No  word  in  the  service  of  the  chapel 
seemed  to  take  hold  upon  his  mind  to  comfort 
or  please  him,  or  to  clear  away  the  vain 
thoughts  that  clouded  it.  At  Sunday  school  he 
revived  a  little ;  for  Clara  Kerlie  was  there,  and 
smiled  at  him  from  across  the  room,  and  the 
society  of  scholars  and  teachers  seemed  to 
restore  him.  But  it  was  only  the  little  taste  of 
favor  and  flattery  that  he  contrived  to  extract 
from  their  society,  that  had  pleased  him  again 
for  a  while,  and  it  soon  left  him  as  unhappy  as 
before. 

The  week-days  that  followed,  however, 
brought  him  enough  of  what  he  craved.  His 
charades  written  out  and  approved,  that  was 
not  enough.  He  must  supervise  the  elaborate 
arrangements  for  their  getting  up,  select  the 
actors,  and  direct  the  acting,  take  the  chief  part 
himself,  and  inspire  all  the  others.  He  found 
enough  to  keep  him  busy  with  Miss  Kerlie  and 
her  gay  companions  every  spare  moment  of  the 
next  two  weeks.  And,  when  the  charades  had 
passed  off  brilliantly,  they  proved  but  the 


138  THE  STORY  OF  CYRIL  RIVERS. 

beginning  of  engagements  of  the  same  kind. 
Cyril  was  admired  and  popular :  he  wa;>  beset 
with  invitations  to  great  parties  and  small ;  he 
was  asked  to  assist  at  theatricals  and  musicals 
and  dancing  soirees ;  and  everywhere  he  was 
flattered. 

These  temptations  were  of  a  kind  he  could 
not  resist :  he  fell  into  them  recklessly.  He 
lost  the  fresh  ambition  he  had  brought  back  to 
college,  in  a  few  months  of  this  pleasure-seeking. 
He  declared  to  himself,  that  he  could,  at  all 
events,  be  a  respectable  scholar,  and  that  to 
work  so  hard  and  self-denyingly  to  be  a  shining 
one  was  not  worth  while.  He  foi'got  his  father ; 
he  forgot  the  uses  of  industry  that  had  once 
seemed  so  bright  even  to  a  selfish  view  ;  sad- 
dest of  all,  he  forgot  his  covenant  vows,  when, 
in  the  presence  of  God,  of  angels,  and  the 
church  assembly,  he  had  promised  to  live 
soberly,  righteously,  and  godly  in  this  present 
world,  looking  for  the  appearing  of  the  Lord. 
What  a  contrast  the  life  described  in  those  words 
presented  to  his  own  ! 

But  there  is  this  comfort  in  thinking  of  Cyril, 


PLEASURE   WON,   AND  HONOR  LOST.     139 

and  of  all,  who,  like  him,  have  gone  astray, —  God 
has  not  forgotten  his  promises  to  them,  though 
they  have  betrayed  theirs  to  him.  Night  and 
day,  he  watches  over  them,  waiting  for  time  to 
send  an  awakening  voice.  Night  and.  day,  his 
hand  is  upon  the  circumstances  of  their  lives, 
using  each  to  do  his  loving  will ;  till,  when  his 
erring  children  have  wandered  on  as  far  as  to 
the  bitter  punishment  they  have  laid  up  for 
themselves,  he  may  bring  them  back  in  repent- 
ance to  his  feet. 

The  first  complication  Cyril  found  in  his 
career  was  its  cost.  He  thought  he  had  pro- 
vided for  that  when  he  sold  the  essays.  But 
he  had  not  calculated  for  a  change  in  his  feel- 
ings about  expenditure.  The  sight  of  elegance 
begets  the  wish  for  it.  Constant  intercourse 
with  those  who  spend  lavishly  tempts  to  the 
like  carelessness  in  those  whose  means  are 
scanty.  '  It  was  not  long  before  Cyril,  coming 
into  a  brilliant  parlor,  and  threading  his  way 
among  the  beautiful  trails  of  lace  and  silk  and 
satin,  felt  his  homely,  rusty  coat  out  of  place, 
and  kept  himself  studiously  from  near  contrast 


140  THE  STORY  OF  CYRIL  RIVERS. 

with  Harry  Richman,  in  his  shining  dress-suit, 
laced  shirt-front,  and  diamond  studs.  There 
was  no  help  tor  him  in  that  respect,  however  ; 
and  he  could  resign  himself  the  better,  that  the 
fairest  lady  of  all  would  rather  have  his  com- 
pany than  Harry's,  for  all  his  splendor.  But 
there  were  little  expenses  Cyril  could  not  help 
indulging  in  :  there  were  the  concert  tickets  he 
was  tempted  to  buy  for  the  ladies  of  whose 
hospitality  he  had  been  the  recipient ;  and 
there  was  the  fair  they  had  got  up  for  some 
benevolent  purpose,  that  it  would  have  been 
discourteous,  certainly,  for  him  not  to  invest 
in.  A  hundred  such  ways  of  spending,  that 
gave  his  companions  not  a  moment's  thought, 
embarrassed  him  every  day.  No  wonder  he 
resorted  again  and  again  to  writing  composi- 
tions, for  which  there  Avas  always  a  demand. 
It  took  time  he  could  ill  spare,  and  he  felt  that 
it  was  degrading  work.  But  most  dangerous 
of  all  was  the  fact,  that,  relying  upon  this 
resource,  Cyril  grew  all  the  while  less  self- 
denying  and  more  extravagant,  often  exceeding 
the  money  in  hand,  and  finding  debts  more 


PLEASURE   WON,  AND  HONOR  LOST.     141 

easily  made  than  canceled.  In  such  ^extremi- 
ties,  it  was  another  misfortune  that  Tom  Raddon 
was  at  hand,  glad  to  lend  his  friend  any  thing 
he  asked.  »" 

When  a  man's  character  is  lowering  ever  so 
slightly,  how  soon  the  fact  is  known  among  his 
fellows!  If  they  love  him,  they  do  not  speak 
of  it ;  but  they  know  it  all  the  same.  Cyril's 
classmates  admired  him  for  his  talents,  and 
loved  him  for  his  gentle,  pleasant  disposition. 
They  never  blamed  him  publicly  or  privately  ; 
yet  his  standing  in  their  respect  was  not  quite 
as  high  as  it  had  been  last  year.  His  acts 
were,  of  course,  patent  among  them.  It  was 
well  known  by  most  of  them  that  he  wrote 
compositions  for  sale,  that  he  was  in  Raddon's 
debt,  and  that  he  was  more  occupied  with  gay 
society  than  was  right  for  a  man  in  his  position. 
Though  they  never  censured  him,  they  knew 
he  was  doing  wrong.  So  instinctively  were 
they  silent  concerning  his  actions  among  those 
who  would  be  shocked  by  them,  that  John 
Seelye,  very  much  occupied  in  his  own  pursuits, 
had  never  yet  heard  of  the  things  of  which  I 
have  been  telling  you. 


142  THE  STORY  OF  CYRIL  RIVE  US. 

But,  one  Friday  evening,  Seclye  and  Stavins 
were  passing  Cyril's  room  on  their  way  to  the 
prayer-meeting.  "  I  wonder,"  said  John,  look- 
ing up  at  the  light  in  the  windows,  "  if  Rivers 
would  not  go  with  us  to-night." 

"  It's  Friday  night,"  said  Stavins.  "  I  am 
afraid  he'll  be  busy  writing  the  fellows'  essays." 

"  The  fellows'  essays  !  "  said  John  surprised. 
"  What  do  you  mean  ?  " 

"  Oh !  "  said  Nollie,  "  I  thought  you  knew. 
I  forgot.  Never  mind  about  it." 

"  But  what  do  you  mean  ?  "  persisted  John. 

"Why,"  said  Nollie,  "you  see  the  fellows 
get  belated  with  their  compositions,  and  they 
pay  him  to  write  them  for  them,  he  writes  so 
easily.  I  wish  he  wouldn't  do  it ;  but  none  of 
them  seem  to 'think  it's  any  harm." 

"  Are  you  sure  he  does  that  ?  Do  you  know 
positively  ?  "  asked  John.  He  spoke  with  so 
severe  a  tone,  that  Nollie,  frightened  for  Cyril, 
tried  his  best  to  say  truthfully  something  that 
might  exculpate  him. 

"  I  never  saw  him  do  it,"  he  said,  "  nor 
talked  about  it  with  any  of  the  fellows  he  did 


PLEASURE   WON,  AND  HONOR  LOST.     143 

it  for.  But  it  is  the  common  story.  I  have 
got  used  to  hearing  it :  I  thought  you  had.  I 
should  not  have  spoken  of  it." 

"  No,  you  should  not,"  said  John  earnestly. 
"  There  can't  be  any  truth  in  it.  No  man 
could  do  such  a  thino-  who  was  not  lost  to 

O 

shame.  I  could  hardly  believe  it  of  Rivers  if 
I  heard  it  from  his  own  lips.  It's  gossip,  got 
up  because  of  his  patience  with  Raddon  and 
that  childish  set.  They  hang  round  him  as  the 
poor  boys  do  in  our  mission  school.  He  has 
got  some  strange  gift  for  pleasing  and  influen- 
cing them.  Don't  tell  me,  that,  instead  of  trying 
to  do  them  good,  he  would  lend  himself  to 
ruining  them.  I  will  not  believe  it." 

John  was  much  agitated.  His  thoughts  had 
flown  to  the  mission  school,  to  Cyril's  work 
there,  to  his  influence,  his  speeches,  his  prayers. 
Could  it  be  that  this  man  John  had  thought 
likely  to  be  so  useful  was  false  ?  John  loved 
the  school ;  and  the  bare  suspicion  filled  him 
with  jealousy  for  its  welfare.  Well  it  might ; 
for,  though  the  story  were  proved  to  be  slander- 
ous, its  very  existence  was  prejudicial  to  Cyril. 


144  THE  STORY  OF  CYRIL  RIVERS. 

It  could  not  have  gained  credence  for  a  moment 
about  a  thoroughly  true  man  like  John. 

Nollie  Stavins  knew  in  his  heart  that  the 
story  was  true ;  but  he  was  willing  enough  to  let 
John  disbelieve  it.  No  more  was  said  between 
them  upon  the  subject. 

But  every  Sabbath  after  that  it  seemed  to 
Cyril,  that,  in  chapel  or  Sunday  school,  he  never 
raised  his  eyes  from  his  class  or  book,  but  he 
met  the  troubled  glance  of  John  Seelye  fixed 
upon  him.  He  met  it  at  first  carelessly,  then 
with  wonder,  and  then  with  dread,  and,  at  last, 
learned  to  avoid  meeting  it ;  a  consciousness 
of  shame  and  un worthiness,  every  time  that  he 
did  so,  coming  like  a  cloud  over  the  bright 
atmosphere  of  worldly  favor  in  which  he  had 
wrapped  himself. 

A  little  incident  that  occurred  about  this 
time  served  to  increase  the  uneasiness  he  felt 
in  thinking  of  John  Seelye.  In  one  of  the 
teachers'  meetings  occurred  the  annual  election 
of  officers  for  the  school ;  and  Cyril  was  nomi- 
nated for  secretary  and  treasurer.  Of  course, 
as  it  was  an  office  of  small  responsibility,  which 


PLEASURE   WON,  AND  HONOR  LOST.     145 

any  one  of  average  intelligence  and  faithfulness 
could  hold,  and  as  Cyril  was  so  popular,  there 
was  no  expectation  of  any  thing  but  a  unani- 
mous vote  in  his  favor.  There  was  a  slight 
sensation  of  surprise,  then,  when  the  superin- 
tendent counted  one  adverse  vote.  No  one 
noticed  it  much,  .however,  except  Cyril.  In- 
stinctively, he  glanced  across  the  room  at  John 
Seelye.  There  was  a  shade  of  some  sad  feel- 
ing softening  his  face  ;  but  he  met  Cyril's  gaze 
quietly.  Nevertheless,  Cyril  was  sure  that 
John  had  cast  that  vote. 

Cyril  went  home  that  night  with  a  sorrow 
in  his  heart  almost  as  bitter  as  if  the  whole 
world  had  distrusted  and  rejected  him,  instead 
of  one  man.  Perhaps  it  was  because  he  had 
such  reason,  in  his  real  unworthiness,  to  dread 
the  first  sign  of  distrust. 

Shall  we  inquire  what  had  actuated  John  ? 
Suppose  he  had  good  reason  to  believe  Cyril 
careless  of  honesty  about  his  every-day  work ; 
even  then,  could  it  be  feared  he  would  betray 
the  little  trust  they  proposed  to  give  him  in  the 
school  ?  The  thing  would  be  impossible. 
10 


146  THE  STORY  OF  CYRIL  RIVERS. 

There  were  bonds  enough  to  secure  him  in  this 
case,  of  course.  He  would  not  risk  losing  his 

•  O 

character  as  a  gentleman,  and  being  held  up  to 
the  reprobation  of  the  community,  for  any  such 
trivial  temptation. 

But  John  could  not  reason  in  that  way.  To 
him,  the  man  who  did  not  live  the  truth  in  the 
fear  of  God  was  never  reliable  ;  no,  not  when 
backed  by  the  strongest  securities,  and  by  the 
strongest  motives  of  worldly  wisdom.  Such  a 
man  he  could  not  help  place  in  any  trust,  how- 
ever slight,  especially  a  trust  in  the  service  of 
God.  And  in  John's  little  action  I  think  there 
was  a  good  lesson  in  political  management  for 
Tom  Raddon  to  learn.  If  a  man  is  unfaithful 
to  his  own  best  interests,  do  not  put  those  of 
others  into  his  hands  in  the  blind  hope  that  he 
will  deal  with  them  more  justly  and  wisely. 


TOM  AND  HIS  TEACHER.  147 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

TOM      AND     HIS     TEACHER. 

"  The  borrower  is  servant  to  the  lender." 

'OWARD  the  close  of  the  winter, 
one  rainy  Saturday  afternoon,  Tom 
Raddon  was  walking  up  and  down 
r~  Cyril's  room,  suffering  from  "  nothing 
to  do."  That  simply  meant  that  he 
did  not  want  to  work,  and  could  think  of  no 
pleasure  that  attracted  him.  He  was  in  a  very 
discontented  frame  of  mind,  and  was  pouring 
forth  a  long  catalogue  of  complaints  to  patient 
Cyril.  He  cursed  the  weather,  he  found  fault 
with  his  friends,  he  detailed  his  misfortunes, — 
the  letter  of  warning  sent  home  to  his  father, 
his  father's  displeasure  in  consequence,  his  own 
folly  of  heart  and  stupidity  of  head,  his  disap- 
pointment in  the  make  of  his  new  suit,  and  his 
vexation  because  his  boots  were  too  large,  — 


148  THE  STORY  OF  CYRIL  RIVERS. 

and  expressed  in  general  liis  conviction  that 
there  was  nothing  in  life  worth  living  for,  and 
that  he  would  about  as  lief  be  a  poor  dog  as  a 
man.  Now,  of  all  selfishness,  the  most  wanton 
is  laying  the  burden  of  one's  petty  griefs  and 
vexations  upon  a  friend  in  fretful  complaint. 
Cyril,  at  this  dreary  close  of  the  week,  was 
enough  depressed  with  troubles  of  his  own ; 
but  he  listened  to  Tom  with  great  gentleness 
and  patience,  sympathizing  with  him,  or  trying 
to  reason  with  him,  or  laugh  away  his  vagaries. 
If  he  ha*d  not  himself  forgotten  what  can  keep 
a  man  always  strong  and  joyful,  he  might  have 
given  Tom  something  better  than  this  kind 
endurance  of  his  fretfulness ;  that  is,  a  few 
faithful  words  to  have  shown  its  cause  and  its 
prevention. 

From  other  troubles,  Tom  at  last  proceeded 
to  descant  upon  his  pecuniary  vexations.  He 
had  lost  money  at  play ;  all  the  bills  that  had 
been  sent  in  to  him  had  proved  twice  as  large 
as  -he  had  expected,  and  there  were  some  he 
did  not  believe  he  had  ever  made,  —  he  had  no 
recollection  whatever  of  having  done  so.  His 


TOM  AND  HIS  TEACHER.  149 

father  had  utterly  refused  to  increase  again  his 
stipulated  quarterly  allowance,  which,  large  as 
it  was,  he  had  exceeded  every  quarter  since  he 
had  been  in  college,  and  this  time  more  care- 
lessly than  ever.  There  was  no  hope  of  indu- 
cing him  to  change  his  decision  since  that  letter 
had  gone  home.  It  had  made  him  very  angry. 
Tom  could  not  tell  what  to  do  :  he  had  never 
been  so  "  hard  up  "  in  his  life. 

Now,  when  he  came  to  this  part  of  his 
grumbling,  Cyril  dropped  the  pencil  with  which 
he  had  been  idly  sketching  upon  the  leaf  of  a 
book,  and  instead  of  the  weary  look  upon  his 
face  came  one  of  shame  and  distress.  Borrow- 
ing from  Tom  had  been  such  an  easy  matter, 
that  it  had  been  repeated  till  the  amount  which 
Cyril  owed  him  was  considerable.  Tom  had 
forgotten  it,  or  he  would  not  have  complained 
of  his  poverty  in  his  friend's  heading :  there 
was  enough  delicacy  in  him  for  that;  but, 
since  he  did  complain,  Cyril  remembered  the 
debt,  and  was  ashamed. 

"  I  wish  I  could  pay  you  the  money  you  lent 
me,  Tom,"  he  said  at  last.  "  I  have  not  for- 


150  THE  STORY  OF  CYRIL  RIVERS. 

gotten  it :  but  my  father  is  like  yours  in  think- 
ing I  spend  too  much  already  ;  and,  unlike 
yours,  he  could  not  give  me  more  if  he  would. 
It  is  not  his  debt,  either :  it  is  mine.  But  I  am 
afraid  you'll  have  to  wait  a  good  while  before 
I  earn  the  money  to  pay  it." 

Tom  stopped  in  his  walk,  and  turned  upon 
Cyril,  his  face  red  with  mortification  and  anger. 
"  You  speak  of  that  again  if  you  dare  I  "  he 
said  quite  savagely.  "  The  sooner  you  forget 
it  the  better,  —  as  if  it  was  of  any  account  in 
the  world !  Why,  there's  fellows  I  do  not 
care  a  straw  for  borrowed  and  begged  of  me 
more  than  you  can  guess,  that  never  dream  of 
paying  up.  They  just  hang  round  to  see  how 
much  sport  they  can  get  me  to  pay  for.  They 
never  did  any  thing  for  me,  as  you  have1  done, 
and  as  you  can  do  again  too." 

Tom's  selfishness  would  assert  itself  in  the 
midst  of  generous  and  friendly  impulses.  He 
was  thinking  of  something  he  had  had  in  mind 
all  day,  and  had  been  only  waiting  an  oppor- 
tune moment  to  broach  to  Cyril.  lie  said 
the  last  words  mysteriously,  and,  stopping  in 


TOM  AND  UIS  TEACHER.  151 

his  walk,  drew  a  chair  to  the  table  opposite 
Cyril. 

"  What  is  it  ?  "  said  Cyril  anxiously. 

"  Why,  it's  this,"  said  Tom.  "  If  you  can 
do  for  me  what  nobody  else  can,  and  what 
would  be  worth  to  me  two  or  three  hundred 
dollars,  you'd  stop  fidgeting  about  that  money, 
wouldn't  you  ?  " 

"  Perhaps  so,"  said  Cyril.     "  What  is  it  ?  " 

"  Something  I  must  do.  It's  the  only  way 
to  please  father  that  I  can  think  of;  but,  if  I 
should  succeed,  I  should  fairly  revel  in  '  dosh ' 
all  next  summer." 

"Well,  speak  out,"  said  Cyril  impatiently: 
"  what  are  you  thinking  of  ?  " 

"  Of  the  prize-debates,"  said  Tom.  "  I'm 
going  to  go  in  and  win  one  of  the  prizes.  If 
you'll  help  me,  instead  of  owing  me  any  thing, 
I'll  be  bound  to  you  for  ever.  If  I  should 
succeed,  it  would  be  just  the  thing  to  make  my 
father  think  I  was  getting  on  at  speech-making, 
and  it  would  set  me  up  in  his  good  graces  for 
a  year.  Will  you  show  me  how  to  win; 
Rivers  ?  " 


152  THE  STORY  OF  CYRIL  RIVERS. 

Cyril  looked  discouraged.  "  I  can't,"  he 
said  :  "  the  thing  would  be  impossible,  utterly 
impossible." 

"  I  don't  see  why,"  said  Tom  sulkily,  "  if 
you  were  willing." 

"  Why,  the  best  writers  in  the  class  are 
going  into  these  debates:  how  could  I  make 
you  able  to  compete  with  them  ?  And  I  tell 
you  it  would  be  another  thing  for  me  to  write 
your  debate  for  you  than  to  write  your  compo- 
sition, especially  if  it's  to  be  a  winning  one." 

"  I  don't  see  why,"  said  Tom  again. 

"  Because,  for  you  to  go  and  compete  with 
somebody  else's  debate  would  be  altogether  too 
daring  a  thing.  False  goods  won't  bear  .so 
strong  a  light  as  that.  Why,  the  very  fact  of 
your  joining  in  the  debate  at  all,  when  you  are 
one  of  the  poorest  writers  in  the  class,  would 
be  surprising;  and  if  you  should  bring  an  essay 
that  compared  respectably  with  the  rest,  —  why, 
these  are  not  the  days  of  miracles,  and  every- 
body would  know  there  was  something  wrong. 
Besides,  this  is  different  from  the  compositions, 
because  it's  a  strife  among  the  fellows,  and  it 
would  be  mean  not  to  go  in  fairly." 


TOM  AND  HIS  TEACHER.  153 

"  Hang  the  fellows  !  "  growled  Tom  much 
discomfited,  but  still  holding  to  his  plan  with 
a  strong  will.  "  But  I  tell  you,  Rivers,  I  didn't 
want  you  to  write  the  debate  for  me :  I  asked 
you  to  show  me  how  to  do  it  myself.  Suppose 
I  am  stupid,  and  suppose  I  never  did  write  any 
thing  decent  in  my  life,  is  that  any  reason  why 
I  can't  try  when  I've  a  mind  to  ?  I  tell  you  " 
—  looking  at  Cyril  with  a  scowl  of  determina- 
tion —  "I  can  do  things  when  I  -  please. 
I've  found  that  out  once  or  twice  ;  and  I'd  like 
to  try  this  time.  There's  a  strong  enough 
motive,  and  I  feel  it  in  me  that  I'll  carry  my 
point  in  some  way." 

In  some  way  !  But  could  he  possibly  do  it 
in  a  fair  way  ?  Cyril  sighed  as  the  doubtful 
question  passed  through  his  mind. 

"  Well,  of  course,  you've  a  right  to  try,"  he 
said  ;  "  and  it  will  be  a  good  thing  for  you. 
But  how  can  I  help  you  ?  " 

"  Why,  you  know  best,  I  reckon,"  said  Tom. 
"  Tell  me  how  to  set  to  work,  in  the  first 
place." 

"  Well,  in  the  first  place,"  said  Cyril,  "  you 


154  THE  STORY  OF  CYRIL  RIVERS. 

want  to  read  up  on  both  sides  of  the  ques- 
tion." 

"  And  what  shall  I  read  ?  "  asked  Tom. 

Now,  Cyril  was  going  to  compete  for  the 
prize  himself,  and  was,  for  many  reasons,  very 
anxious  to  win.  He  had  made  out  a  list  of 
books  for  examination,  which,  to  let  Tom  use, 
would  be  a  serious  drawback  to  him,  in  pre- 
venting him  from  obtaining  the  volumes  when 
he  wanted  them,  to  say  nothing  of  the  danger 
that  the  material  of  their  essays  might  be  simi- 
lar, and  so  the  effect  and  freshness  of  each  be 
lessened.  Yet,  after  a  moment's  hesitation,  he 
gave  him  his  list,  and  explained  to  him  just  the 
plan  in  using  it  he  followed  himself.  He  told 
Tom  how  he  must  take  notes  of  what  he 
thought  most  likely  to  serve  his  purpose  ;  how 
he  was  to  combine  the  force  of  arguments 
found  in  different  places  ;  how  to  select  the 
most  impressive  proofs,  and  to  glean  relevant 
facts  to  help  build  up  his  theory.  He  told  him 
how  he  must  let  his  mind  work  upon  what  it 
had  gathered,  and  bestow  upon  it  fresh  color 
and  form  ;  how  to  set  the  main  points  in  due 


TOM  AND  HIS  TEACHER.  155 

order  in  a  brief  preparatory  plan,  and  then  how 
to  fill  out  the  structure  upon  the  frame-work. 
When  Tom  grew  bewildered  and  despairing  on 
account  of  the  strangeness  and  difficulty  of 
the  work  thus  described  to  him,  Cyril  would  go 
over  the  process  again,  stating  it  so  that  it 
seemed  less  formidable  to  him.  Cyril  under- 
stood the  lesson  and  the  scholar,  and  Tom 
forced  himself  to  attention :  so  that,  at  last,  he 
could  say  that  he  believed  he  saw  his  way 
clear  in  beginning  the  undertaking.  There 
was  nothing  Cyril  told  him  that  books  and 
instructors  had  not  many  times  tried  to  teach 
him ;  but  he  had  never  before  had  the  will  to 
learn. 

But  Cyril's  labor  for  Tom  was  only  begun. 
That  very  evening,  he  came  to  Cyril's  room 
again,  bringing  with  him  some  of  the  books 
recommended.  There  was  a  scowl  upon  his 
face  as  he  flung  them  upon  the  table. 

"  I've  been  up  in  my  room  with  these,"  he 
said,  "  ever  since  supper  ;  but  I  don't  see  any 
use  in  them.  I  can't  find  any  thing  to  the 
point ;  or,  if  there  is,  I'm  too  stupid  to  under- 


156  THE  STORY  OF  CYKIL  RIVER 8. 

stand  it.  You'll  have  to  help  me,  Rivers: 
I  must  make  headway  somehow." 

Cyril  had  on  his  overcoat,  and  was  about  to 
go  to  the  teachers'  meeting.  "  I'm  going  out, 
Tom,"  he  said :  "  you'll  have  to  wait  till  to- 
ward nine  o'clock,  when  I  come  back." 

"  Oh,  dear  !  "  groaned  Tom :  "  I  shall  be 
sleepy  enough  by  that  time,  if  I  sit  here  over 
these  heavy  books  to  wait  for  you.  Can't  you 
stay  ?  "  His  selfishness  was  so  habitual,  he 
was  often  surprisingly  exacting  and  imperious 
in  his  requests. 

Cyril  considered :  it  was  stormy,  and  the 
meeting  would  be  small  and  uninteresting. 
True,  there  would  then  be  more  need  of  his 
presence  and  assistance ;  but  that  thought  did 
not  have  much  weight  with  him.  And,  in  the 
midst  of  his  reflections,  there  carne  to  his 
memory  the  glance  of  a  pair  of  honest  gray 
eyes,  that  he  did  not  like  to  meet,  and  from 
the  consciousness  of  which,  to-night,  in  such  a 
small  meeting,  there  would  be  less  to  distract 
him.  That  half-recognized  thought  decided 
him.  He  threw  off  his  coat. 


TOM  AND  HIS  TEACHER.  157 

"  I  won't  go,"  said  he.  "I'd  rather  stay 
and  read.  You  see  I  can  do  my  work  helping 
you.  I  can  kill  two  birds  with  one  stone.  I 
thought  I  should  have  to  wait  for  these  books 
till  you  got  through  with  them ;  but  now 
we'll  read  on  together,  and  I  shall  get  the  gist 
of  the  matter  more  surely  myself  by  pointing 
it  out  to  you." 

Tom  was  touched  by  his  readiness  to  oblige, 
and  thanked  him  with  a  look  of  gratitude. 
"  Rivers,"  he  said,  as  they  drew  their  chairs  to 
the  table,  "  what  are  you  going  to  do  when 
you  get  through  college  ?  " 

"  Why,  I  haven't  made  up  my  mind,"  said 
Cyril.  "  If  I  should  get  an  opportunity,  I  might 
stay  here  as  tutor,  and  some  day  work  up  to 
be  a  learned  professor." 

Tom  stared  at  him  incredulously.  "  You 
wouldn't  ?  "  said  he. 

"  Why,  yes,"  said  Cyril.  "  It's  a  kind  of 
life  I  used  to  think  might  be  pleasant.  But 
perhaps  I  shall  be  a  lawyer :  I've  thought 
more  of  that  lately,  because,  you  see,  it  pays 
better." 


158  THE  STORY  OF  CYRIL  RIVERS. 

"  Do,"  said  Tom,  apparently  much  relieved, 
"  and  come  down  to  San  Francisco  to  open 
your  office.  My  father  can  help  you  to  busi- 
ness. He'll  make  a  rich  man  of  you  before 
you're  thirty." 

"  And  then,"  said  Cyril,  smiling,  "  I  can 
take  you  for  a  partner,  and  help  you  into  Con- 
gress, just  as  I'm  going  to  help  you  win  this 
prize." 

Tom  shook  his  head.  "  You  couldn't,"  said 
he  ruefully.  "  Every  tub' 11  have  to  stand  on 
its  own  bottom  after  a  while.  A  man  can't  be 
helped  always." 

True  enough,  Tom ;  truer  than  you  per- 
ceive. No  one  can  long  stand  between  you 
and  the  results  of  your  indolence.  Cyril,  from 
motives  partly  selfish,  partly  amiable,  helps  you 
now ;  but  you  must  stand  for  yourself  at  the 
examination  :  you  must  answer  for  yourself  to 
your  father  when  you  go  back  without  the 
knowledge  he  sent  you  to  obtain  ;  for  yourself 
to  the  world,  which  expects  a  return  from  your 
manhood  for  all  of  pleasure  and  teaching  it  has 
bestowed  upon  your  youth ;  for  yourself  to 


TOM  AND  HIS  TEACHER.  159 

your  God,  when  he  finds  you,  after  shower  and 
sunshine,  after  many  golden  seasons  of  oppor- 
tunity, still  only  a  useless  cumberer  of  the 
ground.  And  you,  Cyril,  who  have  been  so 
trained  in  the  consideration  of  truths  like  these,4- 
that,  even  now,  they  troop  dimly,  like  unnoticed 
shadows,  through  your  mind,  why  will  you  not 
stop,  and  kindly  point  them  out  to  your  friend, 
while  he  is  for  a  moment  pausing,  and  looking 
with  alarmed  eyes  into  the  future  ? 

Before  they  began  to  read,  Cyril  talked  over 
the  subject  a  little,  giving  Tom  such  an  idea 
of  it  as  he  himself  already  possessed.  When 
they  opened  the  books,  Cyril  was,  nevertheless, 
obliged  often  to  point  out  how  the  reading  was 
connected  with  the  subject,  and  threw  light 
upon  it ;  or  he  stopped  frequently  to  bid  Tom 
take  notes,  or  to  ask  his  thoughts,  or  to  express 
his  own.  In  this  way,  as  Tom  earnestly  gave 
his  attention,  his  interest  was  soon  aroused,  and 
his  mind  set  at  work.  He  began  readily  to 
exchange  his  roughly  expressed  but  fresh  and 
original  ideas  with  Cyril's.  It  became  evident 
to  the  latter  that  Tom  would  voluntarily  take 


1GO  THE  STORY  OF  CYRIL  RIVERS. 

the  opposite  side  of  the  dehate  from  the  one  he 
had  chosen  to  advocate ;  and  that  he  thought 
very  fortunate.  This  interchange  of  ideas  he 
found  was  not  unprofitable  ;  for,  though  Tom's 
•line  of  thought  was  narrower,  and  more  likely 
to  be  erring,  than  Cyril's,  yet  Cyril  found  his 
mind  quickened  and  enlightened  by  exploring 
it.  And  Tom,  in  trying  to  argue  with  Cyril, 
and  in  hearing  him  talk,  began  to  be  delighted 
with  the  new  wisdom  he  seemed  himself  to 
have  gained,  and  the  profundity  of  thought  he 
had  found  in  himself.  It  was  as  if  a  whole 
new  field  of  knowledge  lay  at  his  command, 
which  he  was  the  more  proud  of,  because  part 
of  it,  at  least,  was  gained  by  his  own  discovery. 
He  went  home  almost  as  triumphant  of  heart 
as  though  he  already  carried  the  prize  in  his 
pocket. 

Imagine  Cyril's  astonishment,  when,  three 
days  after  this,  Tom  came  in  and  announced 
his  essay  as  finished. 

"  So  soon  !  "  said  Cyril.  "  Why,  I  expect 
to  be  over  mine  the  whole  of  the  next  three 
weeks." 


TOM  AND  HIS  TEACHER.  161 

"  Very  likely,"  said  Tom.  "  But  I  can't  do 
that.  It's  '  strike  while  the  iron  is  hot '  with 
me.  I  know  I've  done  it  better  than  if  I'd 
bored  over  it  longer.  Here,  I've  brought  it 
for  you  to  read.  I'll  venture  to  say  there 
won't  be  but  one  better,  —  yours,  of  course. 
There's  some  fire  in  this,  I  guess,  that'll  carry 
the  judges  by  storm.  It's  got  \vhat  /  think  in 
it,  spoken  out  pretty  plain.  I  mean  to  send 
it  to  my  father :  it  ought  to  please  him,  if  noth- 
ing else  will." 

Cyril,  not  much  re-assured  by  Tom's  perfect 
satisfaction  with  his  work,  sat  down  to  read  it. 
It  was  written  in  Tom's  most  dashing  hand, 
and  made  quite  a  bulky  manuscript.  But,  alas ! 
its  formidable  appearance  did  not  make  up  for 
the  failure  of  its  contents.  Its  commencement 
was  abrupt  and  awkward,  its  statements  pom- 
pous and  puerile  and  unsustained,  its  arguments 
obscure,  its  illustrations  absurd,  its  style  of  the 
spread-eagle  variety,  deforming  and  concealing 
whatever  there  really  existed  in  the  thought 
that  was  true  and  forcible.  Moreover,  Tom 
had  omitted  entirely  many  of  the  most  impor- 
11 


162  THE  STORY  OF  CYRIL  RIVERS. 

tant  points  of  the  discussion,  and  had  com- 
mitted the  egregious  blunder  of  mentioning 
opposing  arguments,  without  attempting  "to 
refute  them.  The  essay  had  every  possible 
fault.  Cyril  read  it,  as  much  perplexed  as 
amused.  He  could  not  tell  what  to  say  as  he 
finished  it,  and  looked  up  to  meet  Tom's  confi- 
dent gaze. 

"  Well,"  said  Tom,  "  isn't  that  about  the 
thing  ?  " 

Cyril  hesitated,  finding  it  hard  to  answer. 
At  last  he  said,  "  No,  old  fellow :  you're  not 
out  of  the  woods  yet,  by  any  means.  You 
mustn't  be  in  such  a  hurry.  You've  got  to  go 
over  this  three  or  four  times  before  you  will  be 
done." 

"  Why,  what's  the  matter  with  it  ?  "  asked 
Tom,  his  face  falling. 

"  Oh !  a  good  many  things,"  said  Cyril. 
"  But,  before  we  go  any  farther,  Tom,  do  let 
me  ask  you  what's  the  use  of  your  doing  this 
any  way  ?  I  wish  you'd  give  it  up." 

"  Why,  I  told  you  what  I  was  doing  it  for," 
said  Tom  ;  "  and  I  will  not  give  it  up." 


TOM  AND  HIS  TEACHER.  163 

"  But  I  don't  believe  it's  necessary,  Tom.  I 
can  show  you  how  to  write  such  a  letter  to 
your  father  as  will  bring  you  all  the  money  you 
want." 

"  I  tell  you  you  don't  know  any  thing  about 
my  father,"  answered  Tom.  "  He  isn't  to  be 
moved  by  any  '  bosh.'  He's  a  hard  man,  and 
used  to  dealing  with  facts.  He  always  looks 
out  to  get  the  worth  of  his  money,  seeing  he 
made  it  himself ;  and,  if  I  don't  do  something  to 
prove  to  him  that  it  isn't  money  wasted  to  keep 
me  here,  nothing  else  will  satisfy  him.  So  tell 
me  what  I've  got  to  do  to  this  thing,"  taking 
up  the  essay.  "  I've  half  a  mind  to  speak  it 
exactly  as  it  is." 

"  To  tell  the  truth,  Tom,"  said  Cyril,  "  I 
don't  believe  they'll  let  you  go  on  to  the  stage 
with  it." 

He  persuaded  Tom  to  sit  down,  and  patiently 
pointed  out  the  most  glaring  errors,  showed 
him  that  he  was  not  yet  half  acquainted  with 
his  subject,  and  that  his  statement  of  what  he 
did  know  was  disorderly  and  incomplete.  For 
two  or  three  days  more,  they  worked  together 


164  THE  STORY  OF  CYRIL  RIVERS. 

over  the  essay,  till  Cyril,  pressed  by  his  own 
occupations,  and  driven  to  despair  by  his 
pupil's  incompetency,  did  what  he  knew  was 
wrong.  Cyril  knew  how  the  subject  ought  to 
be  handled  ;  but,  finding  he  could  not  make  Tom 
conform  to  his  ideas  in  any  other  way,  he  dic- 
tated to  him,  word  for  word,  a  complete  abstract 
of  what  he  thought  the  essay  ought  to  be, 
setting  every  point  and  argument  and  proof  in 
its  order,  omitting  nothing.  He  persuaded 
himself  that  this  was  no  worse  than  any  other 
way  of  helping  Tom ;  that  to  write  out  for 
him  those  few  hints  need  not  prevent  him  from 
calling  the  work  his  own.  Then  he  explained 
to  him  how  to  work  out  every  point,  and  ear- 
nestly endeavored  to  persuade  him  to  adopt  a 
simpler  style  than  the  bombastic  one  of  the 
stump-orator. 

After  all  this,  Tom,  whose  determination 
never  flagged  through  much  hard  work  and 
discouragement,  and  whose  patience  and  docili- 
ty had  amazed  Cyril,  once  more  brought  him 
his  finished  essay.  It  was  incomparably  better 
than  the  first ;  but  this  time  he  presented  it 


TOM  AND  HIS  TEACHER.  165 

with  as  much  doubt  as  he  had  shown  confidence 
before.  Cyril  sighed  to  see  how  mucli  more 
work  was  still  to  be  done.  The  essay  showed 
its  beautiful  framework  still  half  covered.  It 
was  like  a  house  of  noble  plan,  but  all  unfin- 
ished, —  the  clapboarding  nailed  on  only  in 
places,  the  windows  unglazed,  the  paint  put  on 
in  patches,  and  of  different  colors,  and  the 
steps  for  approach  still  wanting.  Alas  !  it  was 
strange  to  see  how  much  more  faithful  was 
Cyril  to  his  notion  of  perfection  in  the  piece 
than  to  truth  and  fairness  in  helping  Tom 
write  it. 

Once  more,  the  two  sat  down  together ;  and 
Cyril  passed  in  review  every  word  of  the  essay, 
altering,  and  introducing  whole  sentences  and 

o  *  o 

paragraphs,  pruning  out  what  was  redundant, 
simplifying  what  was  overstrained,  and  correct- 
ing what  was  false  and  ungrammatical.  You 
might  think  the  essay  itself  would  have  testified 
against  them ;  but  Cyril  proceeded  very  art- 
fully. He  purposely  left  some  roughness  and 
abruptness,  and  whatever  he  could  that  was 
characteristic  of  Tom :  so  that  there  was  nothing 


1G6  THE  STORY  OF  CYRIL  RIVERS. 

in  the  composition  but  its  general  ability  and 
completeness  to  prove  it  a  fraud. 

Cyril  sighed  with  relief  when  he  at  length 
saw  the  work  finished,  yet  he  trembled  at  its 
excellence.  Tom  felt  no  such  satisfaction  in  it 
as  he  had  done  in  the  first  efforts  he  had  made 
all  by  himself,  though  he  would  still  have 
declared  himself  ready  to  affirm  upon  his  honor 
that  the  essay  was  his  own.  The  reality  of 
its  authorship,  let  them  deceive  themselves  as 
they  might,  was  plainly  enough  proved  to  them 
by  the  fact,  that,  while  Tom  found  great  diffi- 
culty in  committing  his  essay  to  memory,  Cyril 
already  knew  eveiy  word  of  it  by  heart. 

The  fact,  too,  that,  by  this  time,  the  very 
subject  of  the  debate  had  become  unpleasant  to 
him  might  have  told  Cyril  something.  He 
hated  to  commence  writing  upon  his  own  essay. 
In  spite  of  his  father's  and  classmates'  expecta- 
tions, and  his  own  desire  to  win  a  prize,  he 
would  have"  withdrawn  from  the  contest  if  a 
secret  dread  had  not  suggested  to  him,  that  his 
being  a  competitor  would  avert  suspicion  from 
him  in  case  Tom's  debate  was  received  with 


TOM  AND  HIS  TEACHER.  167 

doubt.  Driven  by  this  thought,  he  sat  him- 
self to  work  laboriously.  Besides  all  he  had 
already  thought  upon  the  subject,  he  sought 
new  sources  of  information,  and  soon  found 
himself  gaming  new  ideas  and  a  deeper  insight 
into  the  matter.  His  interest  and  ambition 
were  roused  again ;  and,  as  his  prospect  of  suc- 
cess grew  every  day  more  certain,  he  forgot  the 
uneasiness  that  the  work  he  had  done  for  Tom 
had  left  upon  his  mind.  In  vanity  and  self- 
confidence  he  hardened  himself  against  his 
guilt,  so  that  he  soon  became  almost  uncon- 
scious that  it  was  guilt. 


168  THE  STORY  OF  CYRIL  RIVERS. 


CHAPTER    IX. 
TOM'S  SUCCESS. 

"  Excellent  speech  becometh  not  a  fool  ;  much  less  do  lying  lips  a 
prince." 


name  upon  the  list  of  com- 
petitors  for  the  prize  debates  sur- 
Professor  M'Tafor.  Tom  had 
shirked  his  compositions  with  such 
boldness  and  persistency,  that  his  un- 
dertaking a  voluntary  labor  of  the  kind,  when 
he  was  so  unprepared  for  it,  was  truly  astonish- 
ing. His  essay,  when  it  was  handed  in  with 
the  others  for  criticism,  completed  the  good 
man's  amazement.  At  first,  he  was  pleased; 
and  then,  upon  further  consideration,  a  painful 
suspicion  took  possession  of  him  :  so  that,  at  last, 
he  summoned  Tom  to  a  conference. 

Although  Tom  and  Cyril  had  never  allowed 
to   each  other  or  themselves  that  they  were 


TOM'S  SUCCESS.  169 

acting  unfairly,  yet  that  summons  filled  them 
both  with  consternation.  Tom,  however,  after 
a  few  moments'  hesitation,  and  trembling  of 
heart,  professed  himself  ready  to  brave  the 
matter  out.  He  had  made  up  hie  mind,  he 
said,  that  the  thing  should  be  carried  through 
successfully ;  and  it  should  not  fail  for  want  of 
"  brass  "  on  his  part.  He  had  nothing  to  be 
afraid  of,  and  he  had  as  lief  meet  Professor 
M'Tafor  as  any  other  man.  With  that  he  but- 
toned up  his  double-breasted  coat,  as  a  man 
might  buckle  his  armor,  and  made  his  appear- 
ance before  the  professor,  his  rough  face  wear- 
ing its  boldest  and  most  dogged  scowl. 

Mr.  M'Tafor  was  a  gentle,  kind-hearted 
man.  The  soul  of  honor  himself,  it  was  only 
from  sad  experience  with  his  charge,  that  he 
had  learned  to  suspect  the  prevalence  of  false- 
hood among  others.  It  was  unpleasant  to  him 
to  express  to  Tom  the  doubt  upon  which  he 
had  sent  for  him ;  but  he  knew  the  best  way 
in  hard  tasks  is  to  proceed  to  them  directly, 
even  if  it  must  be  bluntly. 

"  Mr.  Raddon,"  he  said,  "  I  have  been  sur- 


170  THE  STORY  OF  CYRIL  RISERS. 

prised  at  the  great  difference  between  your 
debate  and  every  thing  of  the  kind  you  have 
before  produced.  It  was  so  great,  that  I  must 
ask  an  explanation  of  it." 

"  Sir,"  said  Tom,  his  countenance,  as  he 
said  it  should  be,  like  "  brass,"  "it's  very  easily 
explained.  I  care  nothing  about  our  weekly 
compositions ;  but,  for  the  strongest  possible 
reason,  I  wanted  to  win  one  of  those  prizes.  I 
wrote  with  the  determination  to  win  one." 

The  professor  studied  Tom's  hard  face,  much 
perplexed.  "  But  I  have  never  seen  in  you, 
Mr.  Raddon,  any  proof  whatever  of  the  ability 
to  write  such  an  essay  as  this,  even  with  the 
most  urgent  motives." 

"  Well,  sir,"  answered  Tom,  doggedly  hold- 
ing his  ground,  "  I  never  had  the  ability  be- 
fore :  I  worked  up  to  it  with  harder  work  than 
I  ever  had  in  all  my  life,  just  for  this." 

There  was  a  short  pause,  during  which  the 
professor  seemed  puzzled  how  to  proceed.  At 
last  he  said,  — 

"  Mr.  Raddon,  it  is  my  duty  to  speak  plainly 
with  you.  Notwithstanding  what  you  have 


TOM'S  SUCCESS.  171 

said,  I  can  scarcely  believe  this  essay  is  your 
own  entirely  unassisted  work.  But  I  have  no 
proof  of  this,-  and  can  not,  by  my  misgivings, 
keep  you  out  of  the  lists.  But  I  ask  you,  by 
your  honor  as  a  gentleman,  if  you  know  of  any 
reason  why  you  can  not  with  perfect  fairness  to 
your  companions,  and  with  truth  and  credit 
to  yourself,  bring  this  essay  into  competition,  to 
withdraw  it  now." 

" I  shall  not  withdraw  it,"  said  Tom :  "it  is 
my  own."  There  was  a  bad  look  upon  his 
face,  a  glance  of  the  unscrupulous  fierceness 
with  which  his  will  trampled  down  some  tender 
impulses  to  good  that  moved  in  his  heart. 
The  professor  saw  that  look  with  uneasiness, 
though  he  tried  to  suppose  it  only  an  expression 
of  the  anger  a  man  might  naturally  feel  at 
being  unjustly  suspected.  At  any  rate,  he  felt 
himself  bound  to  believe  so  after  Tom's  answer. 
He  held  out  his  hand,  saying  kindly,  — 

"  Then  forgive  my  suspicions.  I  am,  of 
course,  quite  satisfied  with  that  assurance. 
Only  let  me  hope  you  will  not  suffer  the  use  of 
such  powers  as  you  here  display  to  cease  with 
the  motive  which  led  to  their  discovery." 


172  THE  STORY  OF  CYRIL  RIVERS. 

Tom  departed,  bis  face  still  scowling,  hi8 
manner  of  flinging  out  of  the  room  still  appar- 
ently indicating  outraged  honesty*  But  there 
was  a  feeling  in  his  heart  that  dismayed  him,  a 
terror  about  what  he  was  doing,  a  sense  of 
misery  and  shame,  that  made  him  nearly  des- 
perate. He  stalked  up  and  down  under  the 
elms,  his  bad  resolution  not  in  the  least  shaken, 
but  bis  mind  in  a  passion  of  discontent.  He 
was  angry  with  Cyril  as  well  as  himself.  He 
asked  why  Cyril  had  given  him  undue  help,  or 
why  he  was  not  as  much  shocked,  if  the  thing 
was  so  wrong,  as  the  professor  would  have  been 
if  he  had  known  all.  It  was  too  late  now :  if 
the  thing  was  mean,  Tom  said,  he  could  not 
help  it.  He  did  not  wish  to  defraud  the  other 
fellows  ;  but,  if  any  of  'em  had  worked  harder 
than  he,  let  'em  prove  it.  He  must  have  that 
prize  :  he  had  not  so  set  his  mind  upon  any 
thing  in  his  whole  college  course.  The  rest 
might  take  the  other  honors :  he  had  never 
asked  for  any  but  this.  If  there  was  any  thing 
wrong  in  the  way  he  was  competing,  had  he 
not  done  enough  for  the  class  to  be  excused,  — 


TOM'S  SUCCESS.  173 

he  who  had  bought  the  boat,  and  spent  so 
much  money  in  other  ways  for  class  purposes  ? 

Thus  he  tried  to  reason  away  his  remorse. 
But  all  that  day,  and  for  many  succeeding 
ones,  his  manner  was  almost  savage,  and  his 
face  fiercely  scowling.  His  companions  won- 
dered to  see  him  so  very  irritable.  They 
attributed  his  mood  to  the  trouble  he  had  spoken 
of  between  himself  and  his  father.  There  was 
considerable  amusement  at  the  report  that  he 
was  to  be  one  of  the  speakers ;  but  when  one 
of  his  familiar  comrades  jokingly  congratulated 
him  upon  his  new  ambition,  Tom  cut  him  short 
so  angrily,  and  was  always  so  cross  when  the 
debates  were  mentioned,  that  his  friends  hardly 
dared  speak  of  them  in  his  presence. 

"Well,  the  day  for  the  speaking  came  at 
last,  and  brought  some  unexpected  results. 
The  judges  were  persons  not  in  any  way  con- 
nected with  the  college,  and  likely  to  be  en- 
tirely impartial.  Cyril  carried  away  the  first 
prize.  His  speech  was  conspicuously  the  best 
in  thought,  expression,  and  deliver)'.  The 
second  was  won  by  a  scholar  with  whom  we 


174  THE  STORY  OF  CYRIL  RIVERS. 

are  not  acquainted  ;  and  the  third  was  divided 
between  Tom  Raddon  and  John  Seelye. 

Those  who  knew  these  two  had  listened  to 
them  with  surprise.  John  had  never  been 
very  fortunate  as  a  writer ;  but,  by  much  pains- 
taking, he  had  this  once,  at  least,  contrived  to 
express  some  true  and  original  thoughts  in 
plain,  clear  language,  very  forcibly.  His  un- 
usual success,  however,  no  one  thought  of  con- 
sidering as  any  thing  but  the  result  of  honest, 
industrious  effort.  His  speech  was  heard  with 
no  such  wonder  and  incredulity  as  Tom's  first 
sentences  began  to  excite  among  those  ac- 
quainted with  his  former  attainments. 

Tom  was  unnaturally  excited,  as  those  knew 
who  were  most  familiar  with  him,  —  those  who 
had  laughed  slyly  to  see  him  run  out  to  a 
neighboring  bar-room  for  a  glass  of  brandy 
just  before  his  turn  to  speak.  It  was  by  fair 
means  or  foul,  by  true  fire  or  false,  that  he  was 
bound  to  compel  success.  When  he  stood  upon 
the  platform,  those  physical  advantages  114)011 
which  his  ignorant  father  had  calculated  did 
really  tell  in  his  favor.  His  tall  and  powerful 


TOM'S  SUCCESS.  175 

figure,  liis  large  head,  and  heavy,  strongly- 
marked  features,  were  impressive.  The  scowl 
upon  his  forehead  made  him  look  terribly  in 
earnest.  His  cheeks  burned,  and  there  was 
"fire  in  his  dark  eyes.  Altogether,  he  appeared 
like  a  man  of  force  and  ability  ;  and  Cyril, 
trembling  with  anxiety,  was  relieved,  as  he 
looked  at  Tom,  to  see  that  the  well-known 
words  of  that  essay  would  not  appear  incon- 
gruously wise  from  his  lips.  He  began  to 
speak  well,  a  little  too  forcibly  for  Cyril's  taste 
perhaps  ;  but  the  fault  might  have  served  him 
with  many  not  so  fastidious.  Cyril's  anxiety 
.  for  him  was  so  extreme,  that  his  own  lips  ac- 
tually moved  in  unison  with  Tom's  throughout 
the  piece.  It  was  fortunate  for  both,  that  the 
wonder  with  which  those  near  were  listening  to 
the  speaker  prevented  them  from  noticing  this 
little  circumstance. 

Whatever  surprise  and  half-suspicion  the 
excellence  of  Tom's  essay  had  at  first  excited 
in  some  minds,  it  was  so  good,  and  he  delivered 
it  "with  such  effect,  that  classmates  as  well  as 
strangers  joined  in  the  round  of  applause  that 


176  THE  STORY  OF  CYRIL  RIVERS. 

greeted  him  when  he  finished.  That  applause, 
the  token  of  his  success,  was  the  first  thing 
that  dispelled  the  remorse  that  had  been  vex- 
ing Tom's  soul  these  many  days.  He  looked 
about,  the  frown  upon  his  forehead  disappear- 
ing in  a  triumphant  smile ;  and  there  was  a 
touch  of  his  own  old  braggart,  self-satisfied 
manner  in  the  bow  of  thanks  he  returned,  as 
he  stalked  off  the  stage,  that  afforded  his 
friends  infinite  amusement. 

The  judges,  with  one  exception,  agreed  to 
rank  Tom  third.  But  one  of  them  had  been 
pleased  with  John  Scelye's  speech.  He  had 
listened  to  it  very  attentively,  and  thought  it 
showed  peculiar  merit.  He  recalled  it  to  the 
minds  of  the  others,  and  argued  its  claims  so 
well,  that  he  secured  the  agreement  of  his  asso- 
ciates to  let  it  share  the  third  prize. 

This  arrangement  was  of  little  consequence 
to  Tom.  The  name  of  having  taken  a  prize 
was  all  he  cared  for.  That  he  could  now 
send  to  San  Francisco  the  college  journal  con- 
taining an  account  of  the  debate,  with  the 
complimentary  notice  of  his  essay,  and  the 


TOM'S  SUCCESS.  177 

announcement  that  he  had  ranked  third  among 

O 

twenty  contestants,  was  enough  to  serve  his 
purpose.  In  his  delight,  he  invited  all  the 
debaters,  together  with  his  intimate  friends,  to 
a  supper  in  honor  of  his  success,  and  was  con- 
gratulated by  them  all  in  apparent  good  faith. 
Those  who  could  not  help  holding  suspicions 
held  them  privately.  No  one  wanted  to  make 
an  unpleasant  disturbance.  The  general  feeling 
was,  that  Tom  was  a  "  good  fellow,"  and  had 
always  shown  a  great  deal  of  class  liberality ; 
and,  if  he  had  a  strong  desire  to  carry  his  point 
this  once,  there  was  no  use  in  seeking  to  thwart 
him. 

Cyril,  when  he  saw  matters  terminating 
thus  favorably,  took  heart  again  also.  He 
forgot  all  that  he  had  suffered  about  the  fraud, 
—  forgot,  almost,  that  he  had  committed  it.  His 
own  success  was  no  light  thing  to  him.  He 
was  complimented  upon  it  at  every  turn.  His 
father  was  pleased ;  and  he  had  his  twenty- 
dollars  prize  in  his  pocket.  He  forgot  the 
anxieties  that  had  made  him  rather  more  indus- 
trious of  late,  and  gave  way  more  carelessly 
12 


178  THE  STORY  OF  CYRIL  RIVERS. 

than  ever  to  vanity  and  pleasure-seeking. 
Having  made  proof  to  his  ambition  of  his 
superior  ability,  he  thought  he  could  now  rest 
upon  his  oars  a  while ;  that  his  honor  would  shine 
bright  enough  without  his  care. 

He  went  through  the  rest  of  the  year  half 
working,  and  was  not  nearly  as  much  cha- 
grined, at  its  close,  to  discover  his  loss  in  stand- 
ing as  he  had  been  the  year  before.  He  took 
home,  to  satisfy  his  father,  a  philosophic  coolness 
about  his  failure,  an  assertion  that  he  had  been 
learning  more  from  life,  if  less  from  books,  and 
that  to  bury  himself  in  his  studies  would  be  to 
miss  sympathy  with  his  fellows,  and  knowledge 
of  human  nature,  and  to  grow  selfish  in  a 
narrow  and  mean  ambition.  To  which  his 
father  gravely  answered,  that  to  be  diligent  in 
business  hindered  no  man  from  being  fervent 
in  spirit ;  and  that  the  student  whose  single  aim 
was  to  serve  the  Lord,  serving  himself  and 
others  in  the  truest  way,  by  consequence, 
could  neither  be  a  poor  scholar,  nor  a  selfish, 
narrow-minded  man. 

As  for  Tom,  he  was  not  disappointed  in  the 


TOM'S  SUCCESS.  179 

effect  of  his  prize  and  the  reading  of  his  essay 
upon  his  father.     In  all  the  course  of  his  hard 
life,  the  old  man  had  met  no  greater  gratification 
than  this  promise  of  his  son's  future  success. 
He    went   about,    the    proudest   man    in    San 
Francisco.      As   if    to    make    up    for    having 
wronged  Tom   in    his  dissatisfaction,    he    sent 
him  a  large  sum  of  money,  with  the  liberty  to 
draw   for  whatever    more    he    needed.     Like 
Cyril,  Tom,  upon  the  strength  of  his  success, 
gave  himself  up  to  idleness  and  extravagance, 
till   the  closing  examination  of  the  year  drew 
nigh.      Then,    finding  there  was   great  likeli- 
hood of  being  dropped  to  the  class  below,  he 
fell  to  making  desperate  exertions.     Day  and 
night,  for  three  weeks,  he  and  Baum,  whose 
delinquencies  were  like   his    own,   shut   them- 
selves  up    together    "  to    cram."     With    any 
number  of  translations  and  keys,  they  found  it 
a  difficult  matter  to  do  a  year's  work  in  less 
than  a  month.     They  pasted  together  strips  of 
paper  to  the  length  of  several  feet,  and  copied 
nearly  a  whole  book  of  mathematical  formulas 
upon   them.     These   strips  were   attached   to 


180  THE  STORY  OF  CYRIL  RISERS. 

little  rollers,  one  at  either  end,  which  rolled  up 
to  meet  each  other.  As,  fast,  then,  as  by  the 
motion  of  the  fingers,  the  paper  was  coiled  over 
one  roller,  it  was  drawn  from  the  other;  so 
that  the  whole  surface  could  in  a  few  moments 
be  passed  under  review,  hidden  in  one's  hand. 
By  the  help  of  this  contrivance,  and  many  other 
ingenious  and  painstaking  methods  of  cheating, 
but  much  more  by  the  help  of  what  real  study 
they  were  able  to  accomplish,  they  contrived  to 
scramble  through  the  examination  ;  and  with 
that  they  were  abundantly  satisfied. 


THE  PROMENADE  CONCERT.      181 


CHAPTER  X. 

THE    PROMENADE    CONCERT. 
"  Open  rebuke  is  better  than  secret  love." 

PASS  on  to  the  third  winter  of 
Cyril's  life  at  college.  Of  what  was 
unfortunate  in  his  course,  one  thing 
he  would  have  been  ready  to  con- 
fess, —  he  was  not  growing  happier. 
The  failures  in  scholarship,  that  he  professed  to 
look  upon  with  such  indifference,  were  secretly 
galling  to  him,  and  took  away  from  his  self- 
respect.  He  still  ran  eagerly  after  social  pleas- 
ures ;  but  they  never  now  proved  so  delightful 
as  formerly.  He  was  developing  slightly  the 
saddest  of  all  symptoms  in  a  young  man, — 
professed  disgust  with  what  life  offers.  He 
cheapened  its  best  gifts  to  his  mind,  because  he 
did  not  want  to  make  the  effort  to  win  them  ; 
and  low  and  easy  pleasures  were  palling  upon 


182  THE  STORY  OF  CYRIL  RIVERS. 

his  taste.  His  friendships  were  often  a  vexa- 
tion to  him,  because  lie  had  not  founded  them 
upon  truth.  Of  himself  he  was  fast  losing 
expectation.  He  was  beginning  to  persuade 
himself  that  no  man  was  good,  unselfish,  or 
honest,  no  pleasure  satisfactory,  no  hope  worth 
aiming  for.  This  perverse  and  infidel  reason- 
ing always  ensues  in  minds,  that,  with  a 
naturally  quick  perception  of  the  right,  yield  to 
sin.  They  must  blind  and  harden  themselves 
to  escape  torture  from  violated  instincts.  But 
such  a  false  view  of  life  and  manhood  is  dead- 
ly :  it  is  the  paralytic  stroke  which  the  Devil 
deals  to  kill  energy  and  fervor  of  spirit,  and  to 
put  an  end  to  the  last  feeble  struggles  of  the 
soul  after  its  true  nobility.  True,  there  is  an 
existence  which  merits  such  a  contemptuous 
estimate  :  it  is  that  which  is  alienated  from  the 
life  of  God.  Well  may  those  who  have  sepa-' 
rated  from  him  deem  that  there  is  no  joy  or 
fullness  or  profit  in  their  lives,  and  call  them 
mean  and  worthless.  But  let  them  not  offend 
God  by  saying  that  the  gifts  of  the  being  he 
gave  "them  were  such.  It  is  they  who  with 


THE  PROMENADE  CONCERT.      183 

their  own  hands  have  plucked  out  its  priceless 
jewels,  and  thrown  them  away,  —  the  jewels  of 
possible  wisdom  and  joy  and  holiness  and 
immortality,  drawn  from  the  treasures  of  Him 
who  filleth  all  in  all. 

But,  beside  his  secret  dissatisfaction  with 
himself,  Cyril  had  other  causes  of  sorrow,  which 
it  was  less  in  his  power  to  remove.  A  cloud 
hung  over  his  home,  arising  from  the  growing 
feebleness  of  Mr.  Rivers's  health,  at  a  time 
when  the  wants  of  his  family  and  congregation 
were  making  greater  demands  than  ever  before 
upon  his  exertions.  Cyril,  in  the  last  weeks 
of  his  vacation,  could  not  help  noticing  how  his 
father's  figure  stooped  from  weakness,  how 
often  he  sighed  over  his  work,  and  how  easily 
he  grew  tired.  He  could  not  help  seeing  the 
extreme  anxiety  of  his  mother  and  older  sisters 
about  his  father's  health,  and  hearing  their 
perplexed  consultations  as  to  how  to  relieve 
him  of  the  burdens  that  his  shoulders  seemed 
the  only  ones  to  bear.  Cyril  had  once  pro- 
posed leaving  college  as  the  best  means  for  sav- 
ing expense  :  but  they  told  him  that  was  not  to 


184  THE  STORY  OF  CYRIL  RIVERS. 

be  thought  of;  that  his  father  could  bear  any 
thing  better  than  such  a  disappointment.  So 
he  had  come  back  to  college,  anxious  at  heart 
whenever  he  thought  of  home  troubles.  But, 
to  some  extent,  he  forgot  them  as  the  weeks 
separated  him  from  what  he  had  seen  of  them, 
and  the  cheerful  letters  he  received  defended 
him  from  the  knowledge  of  their  continuance, 
and  as  he  became  more  and  more  absorbed  in 
himself,  and  his  present  circumstances  and  oc- 
cupations. 

Who  projected  the  grand  promenade  concert 
in  aid  of  the  Orphan  Asylum,  with  anticipa- 
tions of  which  the  town  was  now  full  ?  No 
doubt  the  scheme  was  got  up  between  the  fer- 
tile wits  of  little  Miss  Kerlie  —  whose  benevo- 
lent concern  for  mission  schools  and  orphans 
was  always  uniting  itself  with  her  passion  for 
social  excitement  —  and  those  of  her  old  bache- 
lor confrere,  Mr.  llollin  Childs,  that  invaluable 
man  in  society,  of  liberal  fortune  and  infinite 
good  nature,  whose  whole  occupation  and  end 
in  life  seemed  to  be  to  help  with  his  means  and 
Jiis  energies  the  sports  of  the  young  ladies. 


THE  PROMENADE  CONCERT.  185 

They  laughed  at  him  for  the  frivolity  they  en- 
couraged, not  reflecting  that  it  was  no  more 
unbecoming — though,  let  us  hope,  more  unusu- 
al-—  in  a  man  of  middle  life  than  in  women, 
who,  if  some  of  them  were  his  juniors,  were  at 
least  of  adult  intelligence  and  powers,  and  as 
capable  of  an  earnest  purpose  in  living  as  he. 

Well,  the  Orphan  Asylum  was  in  want  of 
funds,  and  Miss  Kerlie  and  Mr.  Childs  were  in 
want  of  pleasing  occupation.  Therefore,  it 
was  one  morning  reported  in  the  daily  paper 
of  Eaton,  that  "  some  enterprising  and  wealthy 
young  gentlemen  of  our  city  had  a  plan  on 
foot  for  relieving  one  of  our  most  deserving 
and  popular  charities,  the  Orphan  Asylum. 
The  scheme  proposed  was  one  likely  to  be  emi- 
nently successful,  if  carried  out  as  the  names  of 
those  who  had  it  in  charge  guaranteed  that  it 
would  be  carried  out,  and  must  be  gratifying  in 
itself,  aside  from  its  praiseworthy  object,  to  all 
lovers  of  good  taste  and  the  most  refined  social 
pleasures."  Then  followed  an  Account  of  what 
had  been  planned.  The  concert  was  to  be 
made  a  most  select  and  elegant  affair;  the 


186  THE  STORY  OF  CYRIL  RIVERS. 

tickets  were  to  sell  at  five  dollars  each,  and  the 
entire  expenses  to  be  defrayed,  if  possible,  by 
subsci'iption  :  so  that  the  profits  might  be  clear. 
A  second  meeting  of  those  interested  had  been 
appointed ;  and  all  who  were  willing  to  co-oper- 
ate were  earnestly  desired  to  attend. 

Cyril,  turning  over  the  paper  in  the  college 
reading-room,  saw  this  promising  notice,  but 
paid  little  attention  to  it.  But  he  afterward 
became  more  interested,  when  he  discovered 
with  what  enthusiasm  Miss  Kerlie  and  the 
large  circle  of  her  friends  had  entered  into  the 
plan.  They  could  talk  of  nothing  else.  The 
concert,  as  they  declared,  was  to  be  the  most 
elegant,  delightful,  and  brilliant  affair  the  city 
had  ever  known,  and  to  be  an  immense  help  to 
the  asylum.  Moreover,  Cyril  was  not  left  to 
suppose  that  it  was  a  town  affair,  and  he  had 
nothing  to  do  with  it.  It  was  exceedingly  im- 
portant that  the  students  should  be  induced  to 
co-operate.  Their  attendance  at  the  concert 
would  be  indispensable,  and  their  help  was 
much  desired  in  preparing  for  it.  Cyril,  if  he 
would,  could  do  a  great  deal  to  help  enlist  them 


THE  PROMENADE  CONCERT.      187 

in  the  cause.  He  must  invite  them  to  attend 
the  next  meeting  of  the  Aid  Association, 
and  go  himself. 

Cyril  felt  little  inclination  to  accept  these 
hints.  He  felt  thatfhe  should  be  quite  out  of 
place  at  such  a  meeting,  having  nothing  to 
subscribe  ;  and  he  dreaded  that  some  entangle- 
ment might  result.  But  when  he  reported  what 
he  had  heard  to  Benson  and  Sine  and  others, 
who,  not  having  as  slender  a  purse  as  his  own, 
eagerly  hailed  the  prospect  of  a  new  pleasure, 
their  interest  awakened  his.  They  were  ready 
enough  to  attend  the  meeting,  and  see  how  the 
preparations  were  progressing  ;  and  Cyril  agreed 
to  accompany  them. 

The  projectors  of  the  plan  were  very  glad  to 
receive  them,  and  to  press  into  the  service  their 
energy  and  ingenuity.  Therefore,  when  the 
various  officers  and  committees  of  the  new 
Aid  Association  had  been  appointed,  while 
the  wealthy  and  solid  men  of  the  city  had  their 
names,  with  or  without  their  consent,  placed  in 
a  long  list  as  vice-presidents,  and  members  of 
the  finance  committee,  to  insure  the  monetary 


188  THE  STORY  OF  CYRIL  RIVERS. 

success  of  the  affair,  Cyril  Rivers  and  several 
more  of  his  college  friends  were  put  down  as 
decorative  committee  and  floor-managers,  to 
guarantee  its  success  as  a  brilliant  entertain- 
ment. Mr.  Rollin  Childs*had  not  studied  the 
management  of  social  gayeties  so  long  for 
nothing:  he  had  managed  it  very  skillfully. 

Cyril  was  at  first  vexed  and  uneasy  at  the 
position  into  which  he  found  himself  thrust. 
But  there  were  some  considerations  that 
finally  reconciled  him  to  the  responsibility. 
He  should,  of  course,  wish  to  attend  the  concert ; 
and  if  he  made  himself  really  efficient  in  getting 
it  up,  as  very  few  named  for  the  committees 
would  do,  no  doubt  his  services  would  excuse 
the  pui'chase  of  a  ticket :  then  he  saw  a  prospect 
of  some  exciting  pleasure  in  the  work.  No 
expense  was  to  be  spared  to  render  the  hall 
elegant,  and  Cyril  might  have  full  scope  to 
exercise  his  ingenious  and  cultivated  taste ; 
and  then  he  reflected,  with  complacency,  that, 
with  his  handsome  person  and  pleasing  man- 
ners, he  was  just  the  one  to  win  glory  on  such 
an  occasion  in  the  conspicuous  place  of  a 


THE  PROMENADE  CONCERT.      189 

floor-manager.  Are  you  astonished  that  he 
should  he  influenced  by  such  a  childish  thought  ? 
But  vanity  is  so  debasing  :  it  is  a  long  and  silly 
madness,  if  anger  is  a  short  and  fierce  one. 
Let  it  overcome  a  man,  and  he  will  not 
remember  any  more  the  pure  and  high  am- 
bition he  cherished  before.  Cyril  could  sacri- 
fice higher  interests  to  these  petty  triumphs, 
and  forgot  the  scorn  with  which  he  would 
have  condemned  in  another  the  reputation  he 
was  himself  seeking. 

Once  having  engaged  himself  in  forwarding 
the  concert,  Cyril  gave  himself  up  to  the  work 
with  eager  interest.  He  was  made  chairman 
of  the  decorative  committee,  and  took  the 
management  of  its  duties  all  into  his  own  hands. 
The  design,  execution,  and  oversight  were  his ; 
and,  the  farther  he  progressed  in  his  work,  the 
more  enthusiastic  he  grew.  His  plans  were 
extensive  and  extravagant ;  but,  as  fast  as  they 
became  evident,  they  were  applauded  for  their 
elegance  and  originality.  He  enlisted  all  the 
help  he  was  able,  and  got  together  meetings  of 
his  classmates,  and  of  all  the  young  people  of 


190  THE  STORY  OF  CYRIL  RIVERS. 

the  city,  to  tie  evergreens  in  the  ball.  He  was 
the  inspiration  of  all  tbe  gayety  that  went  on 
there,  as  well  as  commander-in-chief  of  tbe 
activity ;  and  be  enjoyed  tbe  position.  When 
the  remembrance  of  duties  and  home  anxieties 
vexed  him,  he  pushed  them  off  tiH  after  the 
concert.  That  was  the  one  interest  that  ex- 
cluded others  from  his  mind  at  present.  He 
was  no  worse  in  this  than  many  others.  In 
fact,  a  sort  of  madness  about  this  grand  con- 
cert, sanctified  by  its  benevolent  purpose, 
seemed  to  seize  upon  all  the  town's  people.  A 
great  amount  of  money  was  contributed 
toward  defraying  tbe  expenses ;  though  why 
they  need  be  so  large,  to  make  tbe  affair 
brilliant,  since  the  guests  were  coming  for 
charity,  and  not  self-gratification,  it  might  have 
Ijeen  puzzling  to  tell. 

But,  as  Cyril  saw  the  preparations  progress, 
be  began  to  be  troubled  with  one  misgiving,  — 
how  was  he  to  play  his  part  in  such  an  elegant 
affair,  with  any  credit  to  himself  or  the  occasion, 
in  the  plain  and  worn  suit  which  was  tbe  best 
he  possessed?  He  knew  the  glory  of  raiment 


THE  PROMENADE  CONCERT.     191 

in  which  most  of  his  companions,  who  could 
afford  to  purchase  the  five-dollar  tickets,  would 
appear;  and  that  many  of  them  would  have 
staid  at  home  often,  rather  than  be  seen  in 
such  a  suit  as  he  had  worn  on  occasions  like 
this.  And  Cyril  was  growing '  exceedingly 
sensitive  about  his  dress.  He  concluded,  at 
last,  that  he  had  no  right  to  be  going  where  he 
could  not  furnish  an  attire  suited  to  the  grandeur 
of  the  occasion,  and  that  he  could  not  possibly 
act  in  the  conspicuous  position  assigned  him 
without  a  new  evening  suit.  What  then  ? 
Why,  when  Cyril  had  finished  his  decorating 
to  his  satisfaction,  he  could  quietly  withdraw 
from  further  labors,  and  delegate  his  duties  for 
the  evening  to  somebody  else. 

But  Cyril  could  not  resign  himself  to  make 
the  sacrifice.  He  argued  that  it  would  be 
impossible  for  him  to  do  it ;  that  his  friends 
would  leave  him  no  peace,  should  he  attempt  to 
withdraw.  Not  another  one  of  the  managers 
had  so  extensive  an  acquaintance  as  he,  or 
such  a  gift  at  creating,  by  his  very  presence, 
here  and  there,  such  a  spirit  of  life  and  enjoy- 


192  TUE  STORY  OF  CYRIL  RIVERS. 

ment  throughout  a  room.  His  friends  among 
his  classmates  counted  it  among  their  best 
chances  for  a  pleasant  evening,  that  he  would 
be  there.  He  already  held  quite  a  list  of 
requests  for  introductions  to  this  young  lady  or 
that,  to  whom  no  one  could  so  favorably  pre- 
sent his  friends  as  he.  Especially  there  was 
Tom.  He  shrank  from  ladies'  society  general- 
ly, but  felt  emboldened  to  present  himself 
among  them  when  the  scene  was  only  a  public 
hall.  The  ceiling  of  a  lady's  drawing-room, 
though  ever  so  lofty,  was  always  oppressive  to 
him,  and  the  furniture  was  all  stumbling-blocks  ; 
but  he  fancied  he  should  move  about  the  Music 
Hall  more  at  his  ease.  And  Tom,  to  the  in- 
finite amusement  of  his  friends,  had  fixed  an 
eye  of  admiration  upon  the  daughter  of  one  of 
the  professors,  a  delicate  and  dainty  maiden, 
upon  whom  the  young  man  gazed  in  chapel, 
Sundays,  to  while  away  the  tedious  hours.  A 
perfect  pink  she  was  for  propriety,  yet  having, 
for  all  her  demure  elegance,  some  merry  and 
mischievous  spice  in  her  disposition,  that  may 
have  led  her,  when  she  perceived  the  steady 


THE  PROMENADE   CONCERT.  193 

stare  of  Tom's  sober,  scowling  face  in  church, 
to  cast  at  him  just  one  or  two  bright  glances 
that  had  bewitched  him.  At  any  rate,  he 
stoutly  averred  that  she  had  smiled  at  him, 
though  all  the  fellows  laughed  incredulously  at 
the  story ;  and  so  he  had  made  Cyril  promise  him 
an  introduction,  and  was  getting  himself  up, 
"  regardless,"  as  his  friends  said,  for  the 
occasion.  If  he  should  learn  that  Cyril  was 
going  to  fail  him,  what  would  be  his  wrath  and 
disappointment !  He  would  be  content  with 
nothing  but  the  true  reason  ;  and  that  Cyril  did 
not  want  to  give.  If  he  did  give  it,  Tom 
would  offer  to  lend  him  money,  and  be  angry 
if  he  did  not  take  it.  No,  Cyril  was  sure  he 
must  go  to  the  concert :  he  had  proceeded  too 
far  to  withdraw  himself.  But,  the  more  he 
tried  to  be  reconciled  to  the  thought  of  going 
in  his  old  clothes,  the  more  impossible  it 
seemed.  So  tlwre  he  was,  irresolute  upon  the 
three  horns  of  his  little  dilemma :  he  could  not 
have  new  clothes,  he  could  not  go  in  his  old 
ones,  and  he  could  not  stay  away.  Do  not 
smile  at  his  weakness  in  hesitating  about  so 

13 


194  THE  STORY  OF  CYRIL  RIVERS. 

small  a  matter ;  for  little  temptations  so  often 
lead  to  great  misfortunes  and  great  sins. 
Recollect,  it  is  not  merely  against  flesh  and 
blood  that  we  fight,  but  against  principalities 
and  powers,  against  the  rulers  of  the  darkness 
of  this  world,  against  spiritual  wickedness  in 
high  places ;  and  do  not  fancy  the  armor  of 
God  —  the  breastplate  of  righteousness,  the 
shield  of  faith,  the  sword  of  the  Spirit  —  too 
cumbrous  armor  for  such  small  occasions  even 
as  this  :  it  was  meant  for  just  such,  to  be  worn 
daily  and  hourly,  and  never  put  aside.  With- 
out it,  Cyril  was  not  safe. 

When  Cyril's  mother,  had  been  looking  over 
his  wardrobe  before  he  returned  to  college,  she 
had  said  to  him  that  she  wished  he  might  have 
a  new  suit :  she  knew  well  enough  that  he 
would  often  be  tempted  to  wish  for  one  him- 
self. His  father,  who  was  sitting  in  the  room 
apparently  occupied  with  a  book,  heard  the 
remark,  though  it  had  been  made  in  a  low  tone 
not  to  reach  his  ear.  "  Well,  mother,"  he 
said  cheerfully,  "  we  must  certainly  let  Cyril 
have  a  new  coat  for  the  junior  exhibition.  I 


THE  PROMENADE  CONCERT.  195 

recollect  having  my  first  broadcloth  suit  to 
wear  on  that  day ;  and  I  kept  it  for  state  occa- 
sions for  a  long  time  afterward.  We  must 
contrive  to  get  Cyril  one  then.  It's  becoming 
that  a  young  man  should  be  suitably  dressed 
when  he  makes  his  first  appearance  in  public." 

These  words  now  occurred  to  Cyril's  mind,  — 
"  His  first  appearance  in  public  !  "  He  could 
hardly  help  smiling  at  his  father's  innocence. 
His  appearance  upon  the  junior  exhibition 
stage  would  be  nothing  for  publicity  compared 
with  his  appearance  upon  the  floor  of  the 
Music  Hall  the  night  of  the  grand  concert,  or 
even  compared  with  the  part  he  had  played  in 
many  a  crowded  drawing-room  in  the  city 
before  this.  But,  if  he  was  to  have  a  suit,  why 
not  have  it  now  ?  There  would  be  no  need  of 
paying  for  it  till  spring,  if  that  was  more  con- 
venient for  his  father ;  yet  Cyril  could  still  have 
it  all  winter,  when  he  wanted  it  most.  Should 
he  write  home,  and  tell  his  father  of  all  these 
considerations  ? 

Ah  !  Cyril  could  not  do  that :  he  dared  not, 
when  he  thought  of  his  father's  pale  face,  and 


196  THE  STORY  OF  CYRIL  RIVERS. 

Lent  shoulders,  and  fast  whitening  hair.  He 
knew  the  wrinkles  of  anxiety  that  would  come 
upon  the  kind  forehead,  and  the  involuntary 
sigh  the  good  man  would  send  forth  as  he  puz- 
zled himself  to  excuse  and  gratify  his  son,  turn- 
ing over  his  resources  in  his  mind,  and,  very 
likely,  planning  new  work  to  supply  the  new 
wants  ;  beginning  his  task  of  writing  earlier  in 
the  morning,  or  continuing  it  later  at  night,  to 
make  time  to  produce  something  for  publica- 
tion ;  or  a  little  lecture  to  deliver  in  some 
neighboring  town  to  eke  out  his  income,  and 
make  it  cover  this  new  expense.  Cyril  knew 
with  what  forebodings  in  her  heart  hfs  mother 
would  watch  these  doings,  and  remonstrate 
against  them  ;  and  how  his  sisters  would  hold 
anxious  consultations  together  again,  looking 
around  for  the  one  forlorn  resource  for  minis- 
ters' daughters,  a  school-teacher's  place,  in  a 
country  already  overstocked  with  school- 
teachers. Ah,  no  !  Cyril  could  not  send  home 
his  wish  :  the  wonder  is,  that,  with  such  a 
remembrance,  he  could  have  cherished  it  at 
all.  But  all  these  thoughts  were  of  interests 


THE  PROMENADE  CONCERT.  197 

absent,  and  distressed  him  only  occasionally  : 
they  did  not  press  upon  him  with  the  urgency 
of  the  ideas  and  examples  that  were  at  present 
surrounding  him. 

As  the  eventful  evening  drew  near,  he  grew 
more  and  more  excited  about  his  part  of  the 
play.  He  became  careless  of  restraints ;  it  was 
as  though  he  lived  in  a  world  where  it  was  right 
for  him  to  have  what  he  pleased,  to  do  as  others 
did,  without  regard  to  the  tyranny  of  circum- 
stances. He  said  to  himself,  that  he  must  have 
that  suit  at  all  events.  It  could  be  paid  for  in 
the  spring:  his  father  would  most  probably 
send  the  money  then ;  and  it  was  not  worth 
while  to  trouble  him  about  it  at  all  at  present. 
If  Cyril  should  foresee  any  likelihood  of  his 
failing  to  send  it,  then,  no  doubt,  he  could  con- 
trive to  pay  it  in  some  way  himself.  He 
might  get  classes  to  teach  in  some  of  the  semi- 
naries in  town  during  his  leisure  hours.  Once 
let  this  concert  go  by,  so  that  he  had  again  the 
use  of  his  time  and  talents,  and  he  could  right 
his  position  quickly  enough  in  some  way. 
Surely,  one  with  friends  and  ability  like  his  need 


198  THE  -STORY  OF  CYRIL  RIVERS. 

not  be  afraid  to  indulge  in  a  little  necessary 
expense  like  this.  Whatever  might  happen, 
there  was  Tom  Raddon,  with  his  generous 
purse,  that  was  sure  to  be  at  his  friend's  ser- 
vice, in  case  every  thing  else  should  fail. 

It  was  Tom  to  whom  Cyril  said,  one  morning, 
as  they  sauntered  to  the  post-office  after  recita- 
tion, — 

"  Raddon,  I've  got  to  get  a  new  suit  for  that 
concert." 

"  You  !  "  said  Tom,  apparently  surprised. 
"  Well,  of  course.  I  never  thought  of  it 
though,  because,  somehow,  you  always  look 
slick  and  bright  enough  at  a  party  in  your 
every-day  clothes.  Expect  you're  kind  o' 
made  for  it ;  but  we  clumsy  fellows  have  to  be 
rigged  up,  like  those  stiff  side-lights  in  the  hall 
you  had  to  tie  up  in  evergreens  to  make  'em 
look  festive." 

"Well,"  said  Cyril,  "made  for  it  or  not,  I 
can't  be  floor-manager  in  this  old,  rusty  suit. 
So  come  in  and  introduce  me  to  your  tailor,  to 
make  him  give  me  credit  enough  to  trust  me. 
I  can't  pay  him  right  away." 


THE  PROMENADE  CONCERT.     199 

"  He'll  be  the  better  pleased,  I  reckon," 
growled  Tom.  "  He'd  never  have  the  face  to 
ask  in  cash  for  what  he  has  the  impudence  to 
set  down  in  the  bill." 

That  was  not  encouraging  to  Cyril  ;  but  he 
said  nothing.  The  two  went  into  the  tailoring 
establishment ;  and  Cyril,  having  resolved  to 
act  without  regard  to  right,  was  the  more 
likely  to  be  regardless  of  prudence,  also.  He 
turned  over  cloths,  and  inquired  prices,  as  if  he 
had  been  used  to  the  frequent  ordering  of 
costly  suits,  and  ended  with  choosing  such 
material,  and  giving  such  directions,  as  would 
secure  him  such  a  suit  as  he  fancied,  without 
much  consideration  of  the  probable  cost.  The 
day  of  reckoning  was  some  distance  off:  there 
would  be  plenty  of  time  to  think  of  it  before  it 
arrived. 

Nevertheless,  he  did  quake  a  little  with 
dread  when  the  elegant  new  suit  came  home ; 
and  he  felt  a  sense  of  just  shame,  as  though 
every  one  must  know  he  had  no  right  to  wear 
it.  The  feeling  was  soon  lost,  however,  in  the 
excitement  of  the  evening,  and  in  gratified 


200  THE  STORY  OF  CYRIL  RIVERS. 

vanity,  as  lie  received  the  compliments  and  con- 
gratulations of  his  friends  upon  his  improved 
appearance. 

That  night  was,  as  had  been  promised,  one 
Ions  to  be  remembered  in  the  annals  of  Eaton. 

o 

The  hall,  when  the  finishing  touches  had  been 
put  to  the  decorations,  and  the  gas  was  all 
lighted,  exceeded  in  beautiful  appearance  all 
that  Cyril  had  expected.  Along  the  sides, 
flags  and  evergreens  were  wreathed  above  and 
below  the  finest  paintings  the  private  resi- 
dences of  the  city  could  furnish  for  the  occa- 
sion. Festoons  were  arched  overhead ;  and 
from  the  center  of  the  ceiling  depended  a  mag- 
nificent basket  of  flowers,  whose  elegant  pat- 
tern Cyril  had  himself  designed. 

The  room  began  to  be  filled  early ;  and  the 
company  was  quite  as  large  and  brilliant  as  had 
been  imagined.  The  ladies  wore  their  gayest 
and  most  elegant  dresses,  and  the  gentlemen 
were  not  behind  them  in  preparations  for  the 
festivity.  The  music  had  been  brought  from 
the  neighboring  metropolis,  and  was  the  best 
and  most  inspiriting.  Its  sweet  strains,  com- 


THE  PROMENADE  CONCERT.     201 

bined  with  the  perfume  of  flowers,  the  bright 
light,  and  the  animated  throng  of  people,  pro- 
duced an  effect  that  was  upon  many  a  young 
mind  a  sort  of  intoxication. 

Cyril,  whose  name,  connected  with  the  ad- 
miration the  decorations  excited,  was  in  every 
one's  mouth,  and  whose  appearance  and  man- 
ners entitled  him  to  be  called  the  most  brilliant 
and  noticeable  young  man  in  the  room,  heard 
snatches  of  complimentary  talk  about  himself 
wherever  he  went.  He  did  not  show  the 
elation  he  felt  as  he  realized  his  position,  ex- 
cept by  the  sparkle  in  his  eye,  and  the  bright- 
ness of  his  smile.  He  was  busy  enough  in  his 
share  of  the  management,  insuring  the  smooth 
and  happy  procedure  of  the  programme.  It 
was  not  his  fault,  that  night,  that  any  one  to 
whom  his  graceful  kindness  could  be  made 
available  did  not  enjoy  the  evening. 

Nor  did  any  thing  occur  to  damp  his  own 
complacency  till  toward  the  close  of  the  fes- 
tivity. The  crowd  was  fast  thinning  by  the 
departure  of  the  older  and  more  sober  portion 
of  it,  and  Cyril  had  cast  aside  the  cares  of  his 


202  THE  STORY  OF  CYRIL  RIVERS. 

office  to  join  in  the  dancing.  He  was  in  the 
highest  state  of  pleasurable  excitement.  He 
stood  hy  his  partner,  waiting  for  the  music  of 
the  quadrille  to  begin.  Just  then  passed  slowly 
by  Tom  Raddon,  with  the  young  lady  upon 
his  arm  to  whom  Cyril  had  given  the  promised 
introduction,  much  fearing,  nevertheless,  that 
she  would  scorn  the  uncouth,  over-dressed 
fellow.  There  was  no  doubt,  however,  that 
she  had  been  kind  and  polite  to  him  ;  for  Tom 
had  followed  her  all  the  evening,  claiming  her 
every  disengaged  moment  with  a  persistency 
in  which  a  more  accomplished  gentleman  would 
not  have  dared  to  indulge  himself.  And  now, 
perhaps,  as  the  easiest  way  of  keeping  up  a 
conversation  that  would  interest  him,  she  had 
led  Torn  to  talk  about  his  everyday  pursuits,  his 
ways  of  managing  life  and  study,  his  ordinary 
hopes  and  vexations.  And  in  the  progress 
of  such  stories  he  had  informed  her  that  to- 
morrow was  the  debating-day,  and  he  was  in 
no  way  prepared  for  it.  And  as  they  passed 
by  Cyril  she  put  this  question,  — 

"  What  will  you  do,   then,    when   you    are 
called  up  ?  " 


THE  PROMENADE  CONCERT.  203 

"  Oh !  I  shall  be  ready  by  that  time,"  an- 
swered Tom  rather  boastfully.  "  You  see,  we 
fellows  are  so  lucky  as  to  have  a  good  friend 
who  knows  about  every  thing,  and  was  just 
born  to  string  off  words  with  a  pen,  so  that 
they  come  to  the  right  thing.  He  writes  off 
something  or  other  for  each  of  us ;  and  we 
study  it  at  prayers,  or  on  the  way  to  breakfast : 
so,  when  the  professor  calls  us  up,  we  are  pret- 
ty sure  to  have  something  to  say." 

Cyril's  eyes  turned  in  anxiety  and  wrath 
upon  Tom,  who  did  not  perceive  him.  "  The 
fool!"  muttered  Cyril  to  himself:  "why 
couldn't  he  have  better  sense  ?  " 

The  young  lady  was  evidently  interested,  if 
not  amused.  Her  lip  had  curled  a  little,  con- 
temptuously, and  there  was  a  sparkle  either  of 
fun  or  indignation  in  her  eye,  —  Cyril  could 
not  have  told  which. 

"  Your  friend  is  certainly  very  obliging," 
she  said. 

"  Oh!"  said  honest  Tom,  "  he  don't  do  it  for 
nothing.  We  wouldn't  ask  it  of  him :  it's 
considerable  work,  you  see.  We  pay  him  a 
dollar  apiece  for  a  composition." 


204  THE  STORY  OF  CYRIL  RIVERS. 

"  A  dollar  apiece  !  "  said  the  young  lady 
slowly  ;  and  Cyril  could  not  mistake  now  the 
exceeding  contempt  in  her  voice  and  manner. 
"  Is  that  the  market-price  for  lies  in  Eaton 
University?  Little  enough,  to  be  sure  !  " 

Tom  looked  at  her  utterly  confounded  :  the 
light  had  broken  upon  him  too  suddenly.  She 
had  spoken  hastily  upon  an  indignant  impulse, 
as  she  often  did  upon  a  merry  one,  and,  recov- 
ering herself,  she  said,  half  ashamed,  "  I  beg 
your  pardon  !  " 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?  "  said  Tom,  dismayed 
at  the  consciousness  of  being  under  her  rebuke. 

She  hesitated  a  minute  between  courtesy 
and  the  honest  severity  of  her  thought.  "  I 
mean,"  she  said  at  last,  her  voice  trembling 
with  earnestness,  "  that  I  do  not  see  how  you 
c:in  do  such  a  thing  as  you  have  told  me  about. 
And  I  should  think  a  man  who  could  take  pay 
for  doing  you  such  a  service  must  be  the  mean- 
est that  ever  lived.  It  is  making  and  selling 
lies." 

Tom  turned  scarlet  with  mortification  at  her 
rebuke,  for  Cyril's  sake  as  well  as  his  own. 


THE  PROMENADE  CONCERT.  205 

Yet,  in  the  midst  of  his  confusion,  Cjril  heard 
him  say  with  dogged  faithfulness,  "  He  is  my 
friend,"  and  for  that  forgave  him  the  impru- 
dence that  had  brought  them  the  condem- 
nation. 

They  passed  by,  and  what  they  said  more,  or 
how  they  made  peace  with  each  other,  Cyril 
could  not  tell.  But  for  him  the  pleasure  of  the 
evening  was  gone.  His  head  drooped,  his  fig- 
ure lost  its  uprightness,  under  the  burden  of 
shame  that  seemed  openly  laid  upon  his  shoul- 
ders. He  hardly  knew  how  he  got  through 
that  dance,  and  answered  his  partner's  chatting. 
He  longed  to  be  at  liberty  to  hide  himself  in 
his  room  ;  but  he  was  forced  to  keep  his  place- 
till  the  most  indefatigable  of  the  dancers  had 
tired  themselves  out,  and  the  gray  light  of 
morning  was  at  hand.  People  told  him  he 
looked  tired ;  and  tired  and  wretched  enoiigh 
he  was.  The  staring  reflection  of  himself  that 
he  met  at  every  turn,  from  the  many  mir- 
rors he  had  ordered  placed  around  the  room, 
was  torturing  to  him  in  his  consciousness  of 
shame. 


206  THE  STORY  OF  CYRIL  RIVERS. 

Returning  at  last  to  his  room,  lie  came  upon 
Tom,  pacing  up  and  down  the  sidewalk  before 
the  door.  Cyril  opened  it,  and  they  went  up 
together  without  a  word.  When  he  had  light- 
ed the  lamp,  he  saw  that  Tom  was  very  much 
excited  ;  and  Tom,  perceiving,  also,  how  tired 
and  distressed  Cyril  looked,  and  having  but  one 
thought  in  his  head  at  present,  guessed  the 
reason. 

"  Did  you  hear  what  she  said  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  Yes,"  answered  Cyril. 

"  I  say  it  was  true,  Rivers  !  "  said  Tom  ex- 
citedly. "  I'd  like  to  kill  myself  to  think  how 
I  showed  myself  without  shame  in  telling  that 
story !  " 

Cyril  tried  to  bethink  himself  how  he  might 
quiet  these  self-reproaches,  and  send  Tom  away ; 
for  he  wanted  to  be  alone. 

"  Yes,  what  she  said  was  true,  Tom,"  he 
said ;  "  and  I  am  the  one  to  be  most  ashamed. 
But  it  was  not  quite  so  bad  as  it  looked  to  her. 
She  did  not  know  the  circumstances,  and  she 
spoke  too  sharply,  being  hardly  more  than  a 
stranger  to  you." 


THE  PROMENADE  CONCERT.     207 

"  I  don't  know,"  said  Tom,  "  whether  she 
spoke  too  sharply  or  not.  I  only  know  I  took 
it  kind  of  her.  I  wish  yon  had  spoken  sharply : 
I  shouldn't  feel  so  mean,  perhaps,  as  I  do 
to-night." 

Cyril  was  shaken  by  that  blunt  rebuke.  He 
could  make  no  answer. 

"  Why  didn't  you  ?  "  continued  Tom,  in  his 
anger.  "  You  pretend  to  know  about  these 
tilings ;  but  I  never  was  taught.  I  hardly  know 
a  lie  is  a  lie  when  it  concerns  my  getting  what 
I  want.  But  you  might:  why  did  you  let 
anybody  buy  you  into  doing  these  things  ?  " 

Why,  indeed  ?  Cyril  was  utterly  cowed  by 
the  question :  he  had  not  a  word  to  say  in 
self-defense.  He  sat  looking  into  the  fire 
with  such  a  pale,  harassed  countenance,  that 
Tom,  in  the  midst  of  his  wrath,  noticed  it, 
and  was  softened. 

f  Forgive  me,  old  fellow  S  "  he  cried.  "  I 
had  no  business  to  blame  you.  You  only 
meant  to  oblige  us,  and  we  all  begged  you  to 
do  it." 

Cyril  turned,  and  took  some  papers  from  the 


208  THE  STORY  OF  CYRIL  RIVERS. 

table.  Selecting  one,  he  put  it  in  Tom's  liand. 
"  It's  the  debate  I  wrote  for  you  for  to-morrow," 
lie  said. 

With  an  angry  jerk,  Tom  threw  it  into  the 
fire;  and  that  appeared  to  relieve  him  more 
than  all  his  scolding. 

"  There  1 "  he  said,  the  fierce  scowl  upon  his 
face  softening,  as  he  watched  the  paper  curl  up 
in  the  blaze,  "  that  does  me  good  !  I  shall  be 
no  liar  to-morrow,  if  I  do  flunk.  I  believe  I 
can  go  home  and  go  to  sleep  upon  that :  it's 
time,  I  guess.  Give  me  your  hand,  and  say 
good-night,  Rivers.  If  I  said  any  thing  unkind, 
forgive  me  before  I  go." 

He  went  away,  and  left  Cyril  still  sitting  by 
the  fire.  He  was  utterly  exhausted ;  but  he 
would  not  try  to  rest.  His  mind  was  dazed  by 
all  the  events  of  the  evening,  —  the  exciting 
scenes  with  which  it  had  begun ;  the  sharp, 
true  words  that  had  cut  short  its  pleasure ; 
Tom's  reproaches;  and  the  jealous  surprise 
with  which  he  discovered  that  one  whom  he 
had  judged  it  impossible  to  lead  from  selfish 
wrong-doing  had  awakened,  at  a  few  words 


THE  PROMENADE  CONCERT.      209 

from  a  stranger,  to  a  deeper  sense  of  shame 
and  repentance  than  Cyril  himself  could  feel. 
His  mind  ran  back  and  forth  over  these  things, 
and  then  to  his  new  clothes,  unpaid  for,  and 
then  to  his  home,  and  sick  father.  He  was 
too  much  exhausted  to  view  any  of  the  circum- 
stances of  his  situation  clearly ;  but  they 
appeared  to  him  such,  that  he  was  filled  with 
unutterable  depression,  shame,  and  grief. 
.  He  sat  in  his  chair,  absorbed  in  anxious  and 
uneasy  thoughts,  till  the  morning  twilight 
brightened,  and  the  college  rising-bell  roused 
him  to  the  fact  that  another  day  had  begun. 
He  rose  and  changed  his  dress,  and  bathed  his 
face  and  hands.  The  half-dozen  debates  he 
had  finished,  with  Tom's,  for  some  of  his  class- 
mates, were  lying  upon  the  table.  What 
should  he  do  with  them  ?  Follow  Tom's  ex- 
ample, and  throw  them  into  the  fire  ?  He 
took  them  up  and  hesitated.  They  had  been 
promised,  and  their  loss  would  cause  disappoint- 
ment. The  fellows  depended  upon  them:  it 
would  not  be  fair  to  break  his  promise  about 
them.  But  he  would  never  do  a  thing  of  the 

14 


210  THE  STORY  OF  CYRIL  RIVERS. 

kind  again  :  he  had  received  sufficient  warning, 
surely,  of  the  insecurity  of  such  conduct.  That 
story  might  easily  now  come  to  the  professors' 
ears,  and  Cyril  could  see  how  it  would  appear 
to  any  one  whose  moral  sense  was  not  blunted 
by  the  constant  contact  with  such  dishonest 
dealings.  Oh,  no !  he  could  not  do  the  thing 
again. 

He  sat  down  to  look  over  some  lesson, 
trying  to  restore  himself  to  his  usual  frame  of 
mind.  The  beginning  of  the  day's  routine, 
and  soon  the  society  of  those  over  whose 
thoughts  and  feelings  hud  come  no  change  since 
yesterday,  helped  him.  By  ten  o'clock,  when 
he  went  into  the  debating-class,  all  the  ex- 
periences of  the  past  night  seemed  hardly  more 
than  a  dream,  the  shadow  of  a  cloud  that 
had  come  and  gone  in  an  hour.  He  could 
hear  Benson  speaking  his  false  essay,  with  only 
a  momentary  twinge  of  fear  and  shame.  And 
the  morning  sunshine  had  almost  the  same 
effect  upon  Tom.  He  half  repented  burning 
the  essay  Cyril  had  prepared  for  him,  and 
timused  the  fellows  about  him  by  telling  the 


THE  PROMENADE   CONCERT. 


211 


story,  and  pretending  to  growl  over  his  folly. 
Yet,  after  all,  lie  was  more  glad  than  sorry. 
There  remained  enough  of  bitterness  about  the 
thought  of  this  deception  to  keep  both  himself 
and  Cyril  from  practicing  it  again. 


212  TUE  STORY  OF  CYRIL  RIVERS. 


CHAPTER    XL 

THE    UNFAITHFUL   STEWARD. 

1  Thorns  and  snares  are  in  the  way  of  the  froward." 

FEW  days  of  quiet,  that  followed 
the  promenade  concert,  restored 
Cyril  to  some  measure  of  wisdom. 
He  saw  that  it  behooved  him  to  be 
in  earnest  in  finding  means  to  pay 
the  debt  he  had  incurred ;  and  he  actually  set 
on  foot  inquiries,  through  his  tutors  and  other 
friends,  for  a  place  where  his  services  as  teacher 
during  some  hours  of  the  day  might  earn  him 
some  income.  But  he  met  with  no  immediate 
success  in  his  efforts  ;  and  as  they  had  been 
made  reluctantly,  through  necessity,  he  did  not 
follow  them  up  very  persistently.  His  atten- 
tion was  soon  distracted  by  some  new  gayety 
like  that  through  which  he  had  just  passed. 


THE  UNFAITHFUL  STEWARD.  213 

Elated  again  by  pleasure  and  vanity,  again  he 
lost  sight  of  his  responsibilities  ;  and  so  up  and 
down,  from  the  top  of  one  wave  of  excite- 
ment, through  intervals  .  of  uncomfortable 
anxiety,  to  another,  he  drifted  through  the 
winter,  till,  with  a  heart  that  had  no  welcome 
for  the  approaching  season,  he  discovered  that 
March  had  brought  in  the  spring. 

As  I  approach  the  denouement  of  my  story,  I 
am  troubled  with  wondering  whether  I  have 
prepared  the  way  for  it,  so  that  it  will  not  seem 
unnatural  and  startling.  But  perhaps  I  can 
not  expect  to  do  that,  since  I  can  only  tell  it  as 
it  occurred ;  and  it  was  startling  to  those  who 
knew  Cyril  best.  We  may  see  the  tall  tree 
sway  in  the  wind,  down  to  its  very  roots,  and 
be  sure  that  some  day  the  blast  will  overthrow 
it ;  but  when  the  crash  comes,  though  long 
awaited,  it  nevertheless  fills  the  beholder  with 
amazement  and  regret. 

There  was  a  new  melodeon  wanted  at  the 
Bethel  Mission ;  and  it  had  been  voted  that 
funds  for  its  purchase  should  be  collected  as 
speedily  as  possible,  and  placed  in  the  hands  of 


214  THE  STORY  OF  CYRIL  RIVERS. 

the  treasurer,  who  was  instructed,  as  soon  as 
lie  had  a  sufficient  amount,  to  select  and  pay 
for  the  instrument.  Cyril  accepted  the  charge 
as  lightly  as  he  had  done  many  another  of  the 
same  kind  that  had  fallen  among  the  duties  of 
his  office.  With  that  sort  of  enthusiasm  and 
ambition  which  he  had  often  shown  before  in 
gaining  something  for  the  school,  —  but  per- 
haps more  from  the .  desire  to  please  the  little 
band  of  teachers  with  whom  he  was  already  so 
popular,  than  from  any  principle  in  forwarding 
a  good  cause,  —  he  set  about  doing  his  share  to 
collect  the  sum  necessary.  He  had  brought  a 
good  deal  of  money  into  the  school  since  his 
connection  with  it,  although  he  had  so  little 
to  contribute  himself.  There  were  enough 

o 

among  his  classmates  carelessly  throwing 
money  about,  whose  benevolent  impulses  he 
could  reach  by  his  persuasive  statement  of  the 
claims  of  this  charity  He  was  as  successful 
this  time  as  always.  He  had  laid  Tom  under 
contribution,  —  who,  in  these  days,  was  grow- 
ing wonderfully  tractable  to  good  influences,  — 
and  others  beside :  and  the  exertions  of  the 


THE   UNFAITHFUL  STEWARD.  215 

rest  of  the  teachers,  added  to  Cyril's,  had 
almost  gained  the  sum  needed. 

But,  heside  this  little  interest  with  which  he 
was  momentarily  occupying  his  thoughts  in  the 
pause  of  sports  at  the  breaking-up  of  the  win- 
ter, tl^ere  .were  other  matters,  far  more  closely 
concerning  Cyril,  that  were  all  the  time  weigh- 
ing upon  his  mind,  and  very  nearly  distracting 
him  with  their  entanglements. 

First  of  all,  there  was  news  from  home  that 
his  father's  infirm  state  of  health  had  ended  in 
an  alarming  illness.  Next,  there  was  Cyril's 
debt.  The  bill  for  his  suit  had  been  sent  in: 
and  the  merchant,  who  had  had  some  unfortu- 
nate experience  in  dealing  with  students,  would 
be  likely  to  press  his  claim  with  unpleasant 
urgency  before  he  allowed  Cyril  to  go  home  for 
vacation  without  making  payment.  Whether 
he  did  or  not,  however,  Cyril's  knowledge  of  his 
inability  to  pay  was  becoming  a  constant  torture 
to  him.  He  felt  the  utmost  reluctance  to  write 
to  his  mother,  reminding  her  of  his  father's 
promise  of  a  new  suit  for  the  approaching 
exhibition ;  but  no  other  resource  seemed  left 


210  THE  STORY  OF  CYRIL  RIVERS. 

him.  Lastly,  there  was  the  dissertation,  which 
he  must  prepare  for  that  occasion,  and  which 
must  make  up  in  brilliancy  for  what  his  ap- 
pointment lacked  in  rank ;  and,  distracted  by 
other  cares,  it  seemed  to  him,  in  his  first  at- 
tempts to  begin  writing,  that  his  own  particular 
genius  and  facility  had  forsaken  him.  He 
could  not  even  think  of  any  subject  for  his 
essay  that  seemed  in  the  least  attractive.  He 
had  already  put  off  attending  to  it  till  but 
little  time  was  left ;  and  now,  irresolute,  and 
wandering  in  thought  from  one  topic  to  another, 
finding  nothing  pleasing  in  any,  he  had  never 
felt  in  such  despair  over  any  task  before. 

Driven  by  necessity,  however,  he  at  last 
fixed  upon  a  subject ;  and,  with  a  pile  of  books 
to  be  examined  for  information,  he  shut  him- 
self into  his  room  one  Saturday  afternoon, 
determined  to  finish  some  plan  of  his  under- 
taking before  nightfall.  He  entered  upon  his 
work  in  good  earnest ;  and  was  at  last  begin- 
ning to  concentrate  his  straying  thoughts,  and 
even  to  become  interested,  when  he  was  inter- 
rupted by  a  gentle  rap  upon  his  door.  He 


THE  UNFAITHFUL  STEWARD.  217 

paid  no  heed  at  first,  supposing  that  some 
student  neighbor  was  there,  who,  not  being 
answered,  would  take  it  for  granted  that  his 
classmate  was  not  at  home,  and  so  pass  on. 
But,  the  knock  being  repeated,  Cyril  raised  his 
head,  and  said,  "  Go  on,  if  you  please,  fellows! 
I'm  busy,  you  see.  I  can't  let  you  in  just 
now." 

But  instead  of  some  hearty  voice  calling 
"  All  right ! "  in  answer,  and  the  sound  of  noisy 
feet  clattering  down  stairs,  some  one,  not 
young  certainly,  gave  a  dry,  quiet  cough,  and 
an  "  Ahem !  "  and  a  voice  that  Cyril  did  not 
recognize  said  respectfully,  — 

u  I'm  sorry  to  disturb  you,  Mr.  Rivers ; 
but  I  should  like  to  speak  with  you  a  minute." 

Of  course,  Cyril,  though  very  reluctant, 
rose,  and  opened  the  door.  There  stood  a 
little  man  with  very  black  eyes  and  hair,  and 
fashionably-cut  whiskers,  with  a  somewhat 
Jewish  cast  of  countenance,  and  arrayed,  from 
the  top  of  his  shining  beaver  to  the  pointed 
tips  of  his  shining  boots,  in  the  very  latest  and 
neatest  style  of  dress.  Why  did  Cyril  start, 


218  THE  STORY  OF  CYRIL   RIVERS. 

and  look  so  exceedingly  dismayed,  at  the  sight 
of  this  little  man,  who  was  not  "a  gentleman, 
certainly,  for  all  his  fine  dress,  and  who  Avas 
bowing  to  him  so  politely  ?  Alas  !  he  owed 
him  money.  He  had  taken  his  goods,  and 
worn  them,  without  making  payment.  It  was 
as  though  Cyril  Rivers,  so  proud  and  sensitive, 
the  pet  of  refined  society,  the  very  gentleman 
of  his  class,  was  now  dependent  upon  the 
charity  of  this  little  Jewish-looking  merchant- 
tailor,  who  had  come  to  remind  him  of  his 
degradation,  perhaps  cunning  enough  to  know 
that  this  was  the  surest  way  of  obtaining  the 
payment  of  his  claim.  As  he  began  with 
bland  civility  to  explain  why  he  had  been 
forced  to  intrude  upon  Mr.  Rivers  again  with 
his  little  bill,  Cyril  felt  his  position  to  be  too 
intolerable  to  be  borne.  To  deny  the  man, 
to  be  obliged  to  ask  his  patience  and  forbear- 
ance a  little  longer,  to  be  forced  to  be  explicit 
in  telling  the  circumstances  that  had  disap- 
pointed him  in  his  hope  of  making  payment, 
falsifying  statements  to  make  his  case  fairer, 
and  all  for  a  man  he  despised,  and  now  even 


THE   UNFAITHFUL  STEWARD.  219 

hated,  because  he  had  the  advantage,  was  what 
Cyril  could  not  do.  He  felt  his  cheeks  burn- 
ing, and  his  tongue  palsied  in  his  mouth,  with 
the  angry  obstinacy  with  which  his  pride  rose 
up  against  his  necessity.  He  was  not  used  to 
being  dunned,  you  see.  He  was  not  hardened 
to  such  situations.  Try  to  put  yourself  in  his 
place,  young  people  who  read  this,  and  who 
never  yet  have  known  the  irksomeness  of  debt, 
and  you  will  not  so  much  wonder  at  what  he 
did. 

There  was  money  enough  in  his  pockets ;  not 
his  own,  but  in  his  trust.  The  temptation  was 
too  strong;  the  impulse  that  drove  him  to  yield 
to  it,  too  blind  and  headstrong.  Let  come 
what  would,  he  would  be  free  from  such  a  mis- 
erable care  as  this.  The  money  for  the  melo- 
deon  would  not  be  wanted  immediately  :  there 
would  be  time  to  make  it  good.  There  was 
his  father's  promise  of  new  clothes,  that  might 
yet  be  fulfilled ;  there  was,  at  any  rate,  Tom's 
friendship  and  wealth  to  -fall  back  upon.  Only 
let  him  get  rid  of  this  man's  claim :  no  other 
could  possibly  be  so  galling.  Quick  as  a  flash, 


220  THE  STORY  OF  CYRIL  RIVERS 

these  thoughts  passed  through  Cyril's  mind. 
He  pulled  forth  his  treasurer's  purse,  and, 
counting  out  sixty  dollars  as  proudly  and  in- 
differently as  if  they  had  been  all  his  own,  put 
them  into  the  tailor's  hand.  The  little  man, 
somewhat  surprised,  but  very  well  pleased  to 
get  his  money,  smiled  and  bowed,  and  thanked 
Mr.  Rivers  for  his  patronage,  and  detailed  a 
long  list  of  elegant  new  spring  goods,  which  he 
wished  the  young  gentlemen  would  only  come 
in  and  examine. 

But,  when  he  had  gone,  do  you  think  Cyril 
returned  to  his  writing  with  quiet  mind  ?  Ah, 
no !  Mechanically  he  seated  himself  at  the 
table,  and  opened  his  book,  to  find  himself,  in 
a  few  moments,  trembling  from  head  to  foot, 
his  hands  refusing  to  obey  him,  his  eyes  unable 
to  make  out  the  letters  upon  the  page,  his 
mind  in  a  maze  of  fears.  He  rose,  and  walked 
up  and  down  the  room,  trying  to  steady  his 
thoughts,  to  look  at  his  case  fairly,  to  count  up 
the  chances  for  and  against  him,  to  form  some 
plan  of  action.  What  was  this  he  had  done  ? 
how  came  he  to  do  it  ?  and  how  was  he  to  man- 


THE   UNFAITHFUL  STEWARD.  221 

age  the  consequences  ?  He  tried  to  think  and 
plan,  and  could  not.  He  tried  to  comfort  him- 
self, and  grew  the  more  terrified. 

There  was  no  more  writing  for  him  'that 
afternoon.  In  a  sort  of  desperation,  he  took 
his  hat,  and  went  down  to  the  post-office.  Pie 
would  surely  have  a  letter  from  his  mother  to- 
night, and  that  might  relieve  him.  He  knew 
the  evening  mail  was  not  in  yet ;  but  he  was 
driven  by  consuming  anxiety  to  go  and  linger 
about  the  doors  of  the  post-office,  that  his  turn 
might  come  first  in  the  distribution.  There 
were  several  of  his  classmates  loitering  about 
there,  up  and  down  the  busy  street,  to  kill 
time,  not  knowing  what  else  to  do  with  the 
Saturday  afternoon.  They  hailed  him  with 
wonder.  "  What !  you  down  here,  Rivers  ?  " 
they  cried.  "  You  shut  yourself  up  to  write 
your  essay ! " 

Cyril  joined  them.  He  seemed  in  his  gayest 
mood,  though  he  was  pale,  and  had  a  worn, 
tired  look.  He  would  not  for  the  world  have 
had  any  one  know  how  fear  preyed  upon  his 
heart.  Some  one  proposed  going  to  a  neigh- 


222  THE  STORY  OF  CYRIL  RIVERS. 

boring  billiard-saloon  to  while  away  the  time 
till  the  mail  came  in.  Cyril,  from  motives  of 
prudence,  and  for  want  of  taste  for  the  game, 
had  heretofore  kept  away  from  such  places; 
but  he  yielded  readily  enough  now  to  the  re- 
quest. He  tried  joining  in  the  game  ;  but  he 
could  pay  no  more  attention  to  it  than  he  had 
been  able  to  give  to  his  writing.  His  misplay 
utterly  astonished  his  companions,  even  in  a  be- 
ginner. "  I  should  think  you  were  drunk,  Riv- 
ers," said  one.  But  it  was  not  wine,  but  in- 
tolerable suspense,  that  had  taken  away  Cyril's 
control  over  his  thoughts  and  actions.  He  soon 

O 

gave  up  trying  to  play,  and  spent  the  time  in 
walking  up  and  down  the  room,  till,  from  the 
window,  he  saw  the  mail-wagon  drive  up  oppo- 
site. Quick  as  a  flash,  he  was  out  of  the  room, 
down  stairs,  and  across  the  street. 

With  what  trembling  he  asked  for  his  letter ! 
It  was  there,  sure  enough,  with  the  home  post- 
mark, and  in  his  mother's  writing.  He  stepped 
aside  to  the  window  to  tear  open  the  envelope 
and  discover  the  contents.  First  of  all,  he  saw 
there  was  no  check  within ;  and  then  with  a 


THE  UNFAITHFUL  STEWARD.  223 

sinking  heart,  in  the  selfishness  of  fear,  he  ran 
his  eye  over  the  loving  lines,  heedless  of  all 
they  would  impart,  till  he  carne  to  the  one 
piece  of  information  that  seemed  most  to  con- 
cern him  now.  The  tenderness  with  which  it 
was  conveyed,  the  disappointment  and  anxiety 
of  the  writer,  touched  him  not  at  all  at  this 
moment.  He  only  gathered  that  neither  father 
nor  mother  could  help  him.  His  father's  sick- 
ness did  not  seem  to  alarm  him,  nor  his  moth- 
er's grief  and  foreboding  to  distress  him.  There 
was  but  one  thought  in  his  mind  at  this  crisis  : 
How  was  he  to  save  himself  from  public  dis- 
grace ? 

He  could  think  of  but  one  resource,  and  that 
was  in  Tom's  friendship.  There  had  been  a 
sort  of  separation  between  Tom  and  Cyril  since 
the  night  of  the  promenade  concert.  It  was 
not  an  estrangement  of  the  heart;  for,  when 
they  met,  their  intercourse  was  still  veiy  kindly. 
But  there  was  a  certain  embarrassment  in  it 
not  like  the  old  freedom.  Cyril,  with  the 
proud  shyness  of  one  who  felt  that  the  friend 
who  once  trusted  him  had  at  last  discovered  his 


224  THE  STORY  OF  CYRIL  RIVERS. 

weakness,  could  not  advise  or  good-naturedly 
take  the  command  of  Tom  as  lie  used  to  do ; 
and  Tom,  still  loving  Cyril,  but  not  confident 
in  him  as  heretofore,  could  not  hide  the  change 
in  his  feelings.  Moreover,  Tom  was  changed 
to  all.  Some  new  influence  had  come  over  him 
this  winter.  He  had  been  trying  hard  to  be 
more  studious  ;  but  his  demeanor  was  variable. 
Sometimes  he  would  seem  exceedingly  quiet 
and  earnest,  full  of  moral  and  reflective  re- 
marks that  astonished  and  amused  his  friends, 
but  sometimes  restless  and  discontented,  sav- 
agely quarreling  with  himself  and  every  thing 
about  him. 

But  Cyril  was  still  sure  that  he  might  trust 
Tom's  loving  generosity  toward  himself,  and 
tried  to  fortify  himself  with  that  assurance  in 
his  present  distress  of  mind. 

He  had  one  more  ordeal  to  go  through  be- 
fore he  could  see  Tom  and  set  his  mind  at  rest 
on  this  point.  To-night  there  was  to  be 
another  teachers'  meeting.  It  would  be  torture 
to  Cyril  to  meet  those  whose  trust  he  had  be- 
trayed ;  but  his  anxiety  would  not  let  him  stay 


THE   UNFAITHFUL  STEWARD.  225 

away.  He  would  be  expected  to-night  to  re- 
port about  the  funds  for  the  melodeon,  and  to 
receive  additions  to  them ;  no  doubt,  to  have 
the  means  placed  at  his  disposal  to  procure  the 
instrument  during  the  coming  week. 

He  appeared  at  the  meeting  as  animated 
and  as  self-confident  as  if  no  feeling  of  uneasi- 
ness and  guilt  and  shame  had  ever  visited  his 
heart.  He  gave  in  his  report  of  funds  raised 
for  the  melodeon,  with  a  great  show  of  pleasure 
at  the  speed  with  which  tftey  had  been  collect- 
ed. He  said,  boldly,  that  only  fifteen  dollars 
remained  to  be  gathered  before  the  school 
would  be  enabled  to  make  such  a  purchase  as 
was  desired.  As  he  had  partly  anticipated,  the 
sum  was  at  once  contributed  among  those  pres- 
ent ;  and  there  was  apparently  nothing  now  to 
prevent  the  unfortunate  Cyril  from  buying  the 
instrument  during  the  coming  week. 

He  had,  some  time  previously,  asked  Miss 
Kerlie  to  give  him  the  benefit  of  her  judgment 
in  the  choice  of  the  melodeon :  so  now,  with 
untroubled  face,  he  went  and  asked  her  to  fix 
a  day  when  she  could  go  with  him  to  make  the 

15 


226  THE  STORY  OF  CYRIL  RIVERS. 

purchase  ;  glad  enough,  however,  that  she 
placed  it  as  far  on  in  the  Aveek  as  the  following 
Thursday.  With  four  days'  respite,  and  with 
a  little  comfort  in  realizing  how  utterly  un- 
imagmed  yet  was  his  deed  of  this  afternoon,  he 
went  home,  already  grown  somewhat  harder 
and  bolder  in  bearing  his  hidden  guilt. 

But  he  could  not  sleep  until  he  had  seen 
Tom.  He  went  from  the  teachers'  meetin^  to 

O 

Tom's  room ;  but,  discovering  from  the  sounds 
of  voices  that  his  -friend  was  not  alone,  he 
walked  restlessly  up  and  down  the  street  till  he 
saw  Tom's  guests  come  out  together.  Then 
Cyril  went  and  rapped  upon  the  door,  saying, 
"  Can  I  come  in,  Tom?  It  is  Rivers." 

"  Come  in,"  answered  Tom. 

Cyril  entered,  to  find  the  room  full  of  smoke, 
through  which  he  dimly  discerned  Tom  sitting 
by  the  table,  bending  his  head  over  his  books. 
There  was  a  vexed  scowl  upon  his  face.  His 
Plato,  and  his  grammars  and  lexicons  and 
"  ponies,"  were  all  strewed  about  him.  Cyril 
was  too  much  surprised  at  the  sight  to  restrain 
his  comment. 


THE  UNFAITHFUL' STEWARD.         227 

"  What !   studying  on  Saturday  night  ?  " 
He  had  not  known  Tom.  to  do  such  a  thin<v 

o 

since  he  had  been  in  college.  That  Sunday 
was  the  only  day  in  the  week  proper  to  get 
lessons  in,  had  been,  apparently,  a  main  point 
in  Tom's  creed ;  but  Cyril  saw  at  once  that  he 
had  made  a  mistake  in  noticing  this  change  of 
habits. 

"Why  not?"  said  Tom  defiantly.  And 
then,  too  proud  to  yield  to  a  little  false  shame 
about  his  motives,  he  added,  "  Because  I've 
been  a  heathen  all  my  life,  is  that  a  reason  why 
I  shouldn't ,,  try  to  be  better?  I  tell  you,  I 
haven't  forgot  what  Stavens  said  once  about 
one  law  for  us  all,  saints  and  heathens  together." 

Cyril,  yet  more  surprised,  hastened  to  soothe 
him.  The  slight  sarcasm  vanished  from  his 
face ;  and  some  of  the  sorrow  that  was  in  his 
heart  appeared  instead,  as  he  sat  down  besida 
Tom,  and  answered  him  gently,  — 

"  You  know  I'm  glad,  Tom.     It's  a  hundred" 
times   better  to  keep  it.     And  don't  suppose  I 
thought   it   strange   you  should  try  to    do  it. 
You  call  yourself  a  heathen,  and  think  I  must 


228  THE  STORY  OF  CYRIL  RIVERS. 

be  better,  because  I  have  been  trained  up  in 
religious  ways.  I  tell  you,  I  never  felt  any 
right  to  ask  you  to  join  me  in  them,  I  was  so 
mueh  worse  in  them  than  you  in  your  kind  of 
life.  You  know  some  of  the  miserable  things 
I've  done :  but  if  you  knew  all,  you  would 
despise  me  ;  you  would  see  as  I  do,  plainly 
enough,  which  of  us  is  the  most  likely  to  do 
right." 

It  eased  Cyril's  mind  to  make  this  confession ; 
but  its  truth  was  concealed  by  the  disguise  of 
humility  and  over-scrupulousness  to  a  partial 
eye.  Tom's  friendship  warmed  as  he  perceived 
Cyril's  sadness,  and  heard  this  self-depreciation. 
He  refused  to  believe  words  like  those. 

"  Don't  talk  so,  Rivers  !  "  he  said.  "  We 
all  get  wrong  living  here  together.  We  don't 
think ;  and  we  do  what  is  bad  without  knowing 
or  caring,  because  nobody  else  seems  to  know 
or  care.  Talk  of  yourself !  Why,  just  think 
of  me  in  comparison :  think  what  an  idle, 
wasteful,  vicious,  fool's  life  I've  lived  here !  It 
makes  me  curse  myself  now.  I  can't  tell  you 
how  I've  come  to  see  it;  but  I  do  see  it:  and 


THE   UNFAITHFUL  STEWARD.  229 

the  worst  is,  I  can't  get  out  of  it.  I  try  and 
try,  and  am  back  in  it  before  I  know  it.  I 
thought  I  would  try  and  get  some  good  out  of 
to-morrow,  as  some  other  folks  seem  to  ;  but  I 
sha'n't  make  it  out.  It'll  be  the  old  story.  If 
I  try  to  listen  in  chapel,  it'll  all  seem  a  dreary 
jargon,  that  I  don't  understand ;  and  very 
likely  I  shall  go  to  sleep.  And  then,  out  of 
chapel,  you  know  how  time  goes  when  the 
fellows  get  together.  By  night,  I  shall  be 
enough  disgusted  with  my  trying,  to  give  it  up, 
and  do  any  tiling  they  tease  me  to  do.  What 
can  I  do?  Sometimes  I  wish  I  never  had 
been  born." 

Alas  that  Cyril  had  never  fought  the  good 
fight  himself! — had  never  himself  kept  the 
faith  !  Here  was  offered  him  the  opportunity 
of  doing  a  work,  which  having  done,  a  man 
might  die  contented,  —  a  work  which  would 
have  made  his  soul  shine  as  the  stars,  for  ever 
and  ever.  Tom's  was  the  old  cry,  "  What 
shall  I  do  to  be  saved  ?  "  raised  in  confidence 
to  one  whom  he  loved.  If  Cyril  could  have 
answered  it  out  of  the  fervor  of  faith  in  his  own 


230  TIIE  STORY  OF  CYRIL  RIVERS. 

heart,  if  he  could  have  directed  this  seeking, 
struggling  spirit  toward  the  Light  upon  which 
his  own  eyes  had  been  fixed,  he  might  now 
have  saved  a  soul  from  death. 

But,  alas!  his  own  hands  had  put  such 
hlessedness  out  of  his  reach.  He  had  never 
truly  loved  God's  service ;  and  he  was  not 
thinking  now  of  that  or  of  poor  Tom's  welfare, 
but  of  himself,  —  of  his  own  difficulties  and 
trials.  He  was  to  help  himself,  not  Tom  ;  and 
again  he  failed  his  friend,  crying  "  Peace, 
peace !  "  when  there  was  no  peace.  He  told 
Tom  to  keep  on  trying,  and  that,  as  he  grew 
older,  he  would  become  more  settled,  and 
correct  in  his  desires;  that  the  strife  within 
him  between  good  and  evil  inclinations  would 
gradually  cease  as  his  character  matured  :  as  if 
in  all  a  man's  life  such  a  thing  could  be,  unless 
cither  God  forsook  him,  or  grace  reigned 
triumphant  within  him.  Surely  Cyril  must 
have  known  better  than  this ;  but  the  truth  he 
once  thought  he  believed  he  felt  no  more. 

Sucli  comfort  might  have  been  true,  for  all 
Torn  could  tell ;  but  it  left  him  unsatisfied. 


THE   UNFAITHFUL  STEWARD.  231 

He  knew  not  what  he  had  longed  for ;  but 
surely  this  was  not  it.  He  ceased  to  talk  about 
himself,  and  there  was  a  short  silence  between 
them. 

At  last,  Cyril  offered  to  help  him  with  his 
lesson ;  but  he  declined  the  offer  in  a  manner 
almost  surly. 

"No,"  said  he.  "  It's  time  I  stood  alone,  or 
else  fell  out  of  my  class.  Sometimes  I  think  I 
wouldn't  care  if  I  was  dropped,  and  my  father 
got  tired  of  spending  for  me,  and  left  me  to 
take  care  of  myself,  if  I  only  could  keep  out 
of  this  cursed  cheating." 

Then  there  was  another  silence,  till  Cyril  in 
his  sin,  seeming  to  see  this  last  friend  separating 
from  him  in  his  newly-awakened  conscientious- 
ness, showed  such  sadness  in  his  face  as  he  sat 
looking  into  the  fire,  that  Tom,  noticing  at 
last,  was  startled. 

"What  ails  you,  old  fellow?"  he  asked 
fondly. 

"  I'm  in  trouble,  Tom.  I  cam  6  over  here  to 
ask  you  to  help  me  out." 

"  What  is  it,  then  ?  You  know  I'll  do  it  if  I 
can." 


232  THE  STORY  OF  CYRIL  RIVERS. 

Cyril  hesitated  a  moment ;  and,  when  he 
answered,  he  could  not  help  giving  a  false  color- 
ing to  his  necessity. 

"  Tom,"  he  said  at  last,  "  I  have  been  dis- 
appointed. That  suit  I  got  last  winter, 
I  got  without  my  father's  knowledge,  be- 
cause he  had  promised  me  one  this  spring; 
and  I  thought  I  could  pay  as  well  now  as 
then.  But  father  is  sick,  and  they  can  not 
let  me  have  the  money  ;  and  Ragye  is  dunning 
for  what  I  owe  him.  I  can't  endure  it  any 
longer.  I  want  you  to  lend  me  sixty  dollars, 
and  trust  me  —  I  don't  know  how  long,  per- 
haps two  or  three  years  —  to  pay  it.  You  see, 
I  can't  trouble  my  father  now  :  he  is  sick,  — 
pretty  nearly  worked  and  worried  to  death." 

u  Ragye  !  "  said  Tom  in  great  wrath.  "  Dun- 
ning, is  he  ?  The  impudent  scoundrel !  Why 
didn't  you  kick  him  down  stairs  ?  The  little 
low-lived  tailor !  I'd  like  to  see  him  dun  me  ! 
Why,  he's  only  waited  four  months !  I'll  go 
down  and  blow  him  up  for  his  impudence 
myself!  " 

"  Don't  you  do  it,  Tom ! "  Cyril  cried   in 


THE   UNFAITHFUL  STEWARD.  233 

terror.  "  Blow  him  up  on  your  own  account 
if  you  like  ;  but  this  is  my  business.  I  can't 
wrangle  with  tradesmen  ;  but  I'm  wretched 
when  I'm  in  their  debt.  Lend  me  the  money 
if  you  can,  dear  fellow ;  but  don't  go  talking 
to  Ragye  about  my  affairs." 

"  But,"  said  Tom,  looking  very  sorry,  "  I 
haven't  got  the  money,  Rivers.  I've  spent 
almost  to  my  last  dollar  ;  and  father  will  not 
send  me  more  than  enough  at  the  end  of  the 
term  to  pay  up  and  get  home  with.  Only  if 
you  wait  till  then,  I  guess  I  can  persuade  him 
to  send  me  sixty  more.  I'll  write,  and  try." 

Cyril  groaned :  he  felt  faint  with  the  oppres- 
sion of  dismay.  "  It  won't  do,  Tom,"  said  he  : 
"•  I  want  it  now.  I'm  worn  out  with  thinking 
of  this  thing." 

"  But  you  needn't  be,"  said  Tom,  puzzled. 
"I'll  go  down  and  tell  Ragye,  if  he  so  much 
as  hints  about  your  bill  again,  he'll  forfeit  my 
custom.  Between  us,  we  can  get  the  money 
in  plenty  of  time  to  pay  him." 

But,  seeing  that  Cyril  still  remained  uncom- 
forted,  he  asked,  after  a  minute,  earnestly, 
"  What  else  can  I  do  for  you,  Rivers  ?  "- 


234  THE  STORY  OF  CYRIL  RIVERS. 

"  Nothing,"  said  Cyril,  rising ;  "  but  please 
don't  do  that,  Tom.  Thank  you  all  the  same, 
though.  Never  mind  about  it :  don't  trouble 
yourself  about  it  any  more.  I'll  settle  it  my- 
self. I'll  go  back  to  my  room,  and  give  you  a 
chance  to  get  your  lesson.  Good-night !  " 

Tom  looked  wonderingly  after  him  as  he 
departed.  "  It  is  strange,"  Torn  said  to  him- 
self. "  He  is  quiet,,  and  never  brags  ;  but  he's 
as  proud  as  a  prince.  How  nervous  and  angry 
he  was  when  I  offered  to  speak  to  Ragye ! 
One  would  think  I  meant  to  beg  the  tailor  for 
him.  Poor  Rivers !  I  wish  he  had  the  money 
my  father  gives  me :  he'd  spend  it  like  a 
prince,  not  like  a  loafer  as  I  do,  never  having 
any  thing  to  lend  a  friend  in  trouble.  And, 
as  for  me,  I  wish  I  had  been  poor,  and  had  to 
work  hard  all  my  life.  I  believe  it  would 
have  been  better  for  such  a  great  stupid  as  I. 
What  business  have  I  to  be  in  purple  and  line 
linen  ?  It's  like  dressing  an  ox  up  in  'em : 
the  yoke  and  the  harness  would  be  better  for 
him." 

Ah,  foolish  Tom  !  like  many  another  discon- 


THE   UNFAITHFUL  STEWARD.  235 

tented  youth,  finding  fault  with  the  allotments 
of  Providence ;  unwilling  to  see  the  yoke  and 
the  harness  laid  ready  for  you  ;  not  knowing 
that  whether  it  be  rough,  or  whether  it  be 
padded,  it  must  be  best  for  you  because  it  is 
yours,  or  that  it  must  grow  light  and«easy  for 
you  if  accepted  because  it  is  His. 

Poor  Cyril  has,  with  his  eyes  open  as  it 
were,  cast  away  his  yoke  for  a  garland  of 
flowers,  that  now,  strange  to  say,  begins  to 
weigh  upon  him  like  a  chain,  pressing  poison- 
ous, torturing  thorns  into  his  very  heart. 

Alone  in  his  room  again,  Cyril  walked  up  and 
down,  unable  to  decide  what  measure  to  take 
next.  There  was  one  thing  he  could  do  :  if 
he  should  write  and  tell  his  mother  all,  in  her 
terror  at  the  thought  of  his  disgrace,  he  knew 
she  would  contrive  in  some  way  to  raise  the 
sixty  dollars  of  which  he  stood  in  need ;  and 
then,  he  said  to  himself,  he  would  leave 
college  at  the  end  of  the  term,  and  work  night 
and  day  to  repay  her  doubly.  To  let  her  help 
him,  would,  no  doubt,  be  the  easiest  way  out 
of  his  difficulty ;  but  I  am  thankful  Cyril  had 


236  THE  STORY  OF  CYRIL  RIVERS. 

manliness  enough  not  to  avail  himself  of  it. 
Why  should  he  cast  the  penalty  of  his  folly 
and  sins  upon  his  feeble  mother,  already 
struggling  with  so  many  anxieties  ?  —  make 
her  suffer  the  unspeakable  bitterness  of  discov- 
ering hcnv  weak  and  worthless  was  the  son  of 
whom  she  had  been  so  proud  ?  Cyril  was  not 
quite  selfish  enough  for  that.  He  felt,  that, 
since  he  had  incurred  the  trouble,  he  must 
make  his  way  out  of  it  alone. 

There  was  another  and  a  better  course  sug- 
gested to  his  mind.  It  was,  since  he  had  done 
wrong  which  he  could  in  no  way  repair,  to  go 
and  confess  it.  Would  he  not  do  wisely  to  go 
to-night  to  John  Seelye,  that  good  and  true 
man,  whose  trust  in  bringing  him  into  the 
school  he  had  so  violated,  and  tell  him  all,  and 
ask  and  follow  his  advice  ?  However  humiliat- 
ing such  a  course,  it  would  at  least  be  the 
speediest  way  for  Cyril  to  get  back  to  honora- 
ble conduct.  However  low  he  mio-ht  be 

o 

brought  in  the  sight  of  others,  he  need  not 
scorn  himself  so  bitterly  any  more ;  and  to 
bring  upon  himself  all  the  reprobation  he 


JOHN  SEELYE'S  QUESTION. 


THE   UNFAITHFUL  STEWARD.  237 

dreaded  seemed  better  than  to  suffer  longer 
the  haunting  fear  of  it.  The  momentary  im- 
pulse was  so  strong,  that  Cyril  even  laid  his 
hand  upon  the  door  to  go  in  search  of  John  ; 
and  then  his  pride  arrested  him.  It  was  late, 
he  said  to  himself.  He  need  not  go  to-night : 
he  could  wait  till  Monday.  And  then  he  grew 
suddenly  bold  with  a  new  thought.  Why 
need  he  go  at  all  ?  There  was  no  such  des- 
peration in  his  case  as  he  had  been  persuading 
himself.  If  the  melodeon  must  be  bought 
next  week,  it  need  not  be  paid  for  then.  The 
school  and  its  conductors  were  well  known,  and 
could  easily  obtain  credit.  He  would  make  a 
first  visit  to  the  shop  before  he  took  Miss  Kerlie 
there ;  and  no  doubt  he  could  make  some  ar- 
rangement with  the  proprietor  to  let  the  pay- 
ment rest  till  some  future  time.  This  thought 
freed  him  from  immediate  anxiety,  so  that  at 
last  he  could  lie  down  to  rest.  But  his  sleep 
was  disturbed ;  his  unforgiven  sins,  and  the 
troubles  in  which  they  had  involved  him, 
haunted  him  in  his  dreams. 


238  THE  STORY  OF  CYRIL  RIVERS. 


CHAPTER    XII. 

ALONE   IN    THE    LIBRARY. 

"  As  a  bird  hasteth  to  the  snare,  and  knoweth  not  that  it  is  for  his 
lifu." 

'YRIL  awoke  the  next  morning 
confirmed  in  his  foolish  resolves; 
greater  confidence  in  himself,  and 
greater  fear  of  confession,  coming 
with  the  daylight.  He  said  to  him- 
self that  he  had  been  foolish  to  be  so  much 
disturbed  ;  that  he  had  done  nothing  so  very 
terrible,  —  nothing  that  he  could  not  repair 
without  its  being  known  to  any  one. 

But,  in  spite  of  his  confident  reasoning,  he 
was  not  himself  when  the  week  began.  He 
brought  a  pro-occupied  mind  to  all  his  duties ; 
a  mind  that  was  turning  over  and  over  its 
hidden  thought  of  trouble  and  shame,  and 
planning,  again  and  again,  every  step  of  its 


ALONE  IN  THE  LIBRARY.  239 

scheme  of  escape.  Weary  as  lie  might  be  of 
the  remembrance  of  his  deed,  he  could  not 
turn  away  his  eyes  from  viewing  and  review- 
ing its  every  detail ;  however,  he  tried  to  forget 
himself  in  pleasure  and  in  application. 

At  the  first  possible  moment  he  went  down 
to  the  melodeon  factory,  feeling  that,  if  the 
necessary  falsehood  were  once  told,  he  should 
be  more  at  rest. 

With  a  quiet  manner,  and  an  observant  eye, 
he  went  through  the  wareroorns,  trying  this 
instrument  and  that,  as  though  intent  upon 
nothing  but  making  the  best  choice,  yet  all  the 
while  revolving  in  his  mind  how  to  propose  the 
terms  of  purchase  he  was  obliged  to  offer.  At 
last,  after  having  pretty  thoroughly  examined 
the  stock,  he  pointed  out  two  or  three  of  the 
instruments  as  those  among  which  his  choice 
would  probably  be  ;  explaining  that  he  wished 
to  bring  a  lady  to  examine  them,  and  help  him 
make  the  final  decision.  "  But  first,"  he  said, 
"  I  must  explain  to  you  the  circumstances 
under  which  I  am  making  this  purchase.  I 
am  acting  for  the  Bethel-mission  Sunday 


240  THE  STORY  OF  CYRIL  RIVERS. 

School,  the  name  of  which  must  be  familiar  to 
you.  We  have  the  funds  for  the  purpose 
pledged ;  but  the  money  is  not  yet  in  hand, 
and  may  not  be  for  some  week*.  Meanwhile, 
our  old  instrument  b^ing  badly  broken,  we  are 
much  inconvenienced  for  want  of  one.  Are 
you  willing  to  let  us  have  this,  and  trust  us  a 
while  for  its  payment?  I  am  the  treasurer, 
and  will  give  my  name  in  pledge  for  the  in- 
debtedness." 

"  With  perfect  willingness,"  answered  the 
merchant.  "  It  is  all  the  same  to  us,  sir.  You 
can  pay  at  your  own  convenience." 

"Very  well,  then,"  said  Cyril.  "Expect 
me  here  again  in  a  few  days." 

And,  upon  Thursday,  Miss  Kerlie  and  he 
went  together,  and  after  much  discussion,  found 
the  chef  d'oeuvre  of  all  the  instruments  in  the 
shop  for  the  price  agreed  upon  ;  and  it.  was 
readily  sent  to  the  chapel,  and  set  up  in  its 
place,  without  another  word  to  Cyril  about  its 
cost. 

And  now  he  hoped  the  matter  was  fairly  off 
his  mind  for  a  while,  and  that  he  might  enjoy  a 


ALONE  IN  THE  LIBRARY.  241 

brief  respite  from  thinking  over  it.  But, 
instead  of  that,  he  seemed  to  grow  the  more 
uneasy  and  wretched.  He  set  himself  desper- 
ately at  work  upon  his  dissertation,  the  time  for 
the  delivery  of  which  was  drawing  fatally  near. 
But  if  he  had  never  taken  pen  in  hand  before, 
or  put  word  after  word  upon  paper,  he  thought 
he  could  not  have  found  himself  more  unable  to 
write.  Thought  was  paralyzed  ;  reflection  had 
fled  beyond  the  reach  of  any  summons  ;  memory 
•was  empty  of  the  ghost  of  an  idea.  He  had 
never  had  such  an  experience  before.  Let 
the  subject  be  what  it  might,  when  he  had  set 
himself  to  consider  it,  he  could  usually  find 
enough  of  interest  in  it  to  set  his  thoughts 
flowing,  and  to  put  him  into  a  fervent  energy 
to  express  them.  But  now  the  powers  of  his 
mind  seemed  to  have  rebelled  against  him. 
Disheartened  and  disgusted,  he  pushed  on,  by 
force  of  will  and  necessity,  a  feeble  and  un- 
worthy work,  that,  a  month  ago,  he  would  not 
have  been  willing  to  call  his  own.  The 
knowledge  of  his  ill  success,  instead  of  spurring 
him  to  greater  effort,  seemed  to  distract  and 

16 


242  THE  STORY  OF  CYRIL  RIVERS. 

paralyze  him  the  more.  He  longed,  with 
all  that  was  left  of  his  ambition  as  a  stu- 
dent, to  do  himself  credit  on  this  occasion. 
He  foresaw,  that,  unless  his  father's  health  im- 
proved, this  might  be  his  last  year  at  college  ; 
and  lie  wanted  to  leave  some  honorable  repu- 
tation behind  for  all  the  promise  with  which  he 
had  entered.  He  was  dismayed  and  wretched 
to  discover  his  powerlessness. 

Ah !  a  clear  conscience  is  the  best  security 
for  a  clear  head.  Perfect  control  over  the 
faculties  of  the  mind,  and  the  highest  vigor  of 
those  faculties,  can  not  be  expected  by  one  who 
is  indulging  or  hiding  sin.  A  man's  powers 
must  be  all  disordered  and  crippled  when  Satan 
is  leading  him  captive  at  his  will.  Let  such  a 
man  expect  dimness  of  vision,  and  trembling 
hands,  and  a  failing  heart. 

The  news  from  home  distracted  poor  Cyril 
with  another  cause  for  fear.  They  wrote  that 
his  father's  state  forbade  any  of  the  family  from 
coming  to  hear  their  dear  Cyril  speak  at  the 
exhibition ;  and  his  mother  bade  him  hurry 
home  as  soon  as  it  was  over.  He  wrote,  and 


ALONE  IN  THE  LIBRARY.  243 

begged  her  leave  to  go  now ;  telling  her  some 
of  his  trouble  in  writing  his  essay,  and  giving 
as  a  reason  his  extreme  anxiety  about  his  father. 
But  she  answered,  that  his  father  would  be  more 
disturbed  by  his  return  home  before  the  term 
closed  than  benefited  by  his  presence  ;  that 
he  must  stay  and  do  his  work  with  as  much 
credit  to  himself  as  possible ;  and  that  the 
thought  of  his  sick  father,  instead  of  being  a 
hinderance  to  him,  must  give  him  double 
earnestness  in  his  effort.  From  such  letters, 
Cyril  would  return  again  to  his  task,  shortly  to 
find  himself  wondering  whether  Tom  would 
succeed  in  obtaining  that  sixty  dollars  from  his 
father,  and  how  soon  it  would  come ;  or 
whether  the  mclodeon  merchant  might,  by  any 
chance,  let  out  the  secret  of  the  charge  to  any 
one  connected  with  the  Sunday  school ;  or  what 
he  could  do  to  earn  the  money  during  the 
coming  vacation.  For  such  thoughts  he  called 
himself  a  fool  and  a  coward ;  but  that  did  not 
help  him  to  banish  his  folly  and  cowardice. 

The  days  passed  by  all  too   quickly,  though 
they  were  so  miserable.     In  them  Cyril  was  . 


244  THE  STORY  OF  CYRIL  RIVERS. 

very  much  changed.  He  shrank  from  com- 
panionship, pleading  the  necessity  of  industry 
upon  his  essay.  He  was  as  silent  and  spiritless  as 
he  had  been  used  to  be  vivacious  and  enthusi- 
astic. He  grew  pale  and  sad-looking;  but, 
when  he  was  questioned,  he  found  sufficient 
excuse  for  that  in  mentioning  his  father's  ill- 
ness. 

It  wanted  but  a  week  of  the  day  when  the 
essays  were  to  be  handed  in  for  revision.  It 
was  late  on  Saturday  afternoon.  Cyril  had 
been  drudging  over  his  forced  and  unsatisfac- 
tory labor  until  he  was  nearly  worn  out.  In 
despair  at  the  confusion  in  his  mind,  and  the 
failure  of  his  •memory  when  he  tried  to  recol- 
lect some  line  of  argument  he  was  citing  from 
a  work  he  had  read,  he  laid  down  his  pen, 
feeling  that  he  must  go  again  to  the  college 
library  to  find  the  volume  and  give  the  passage 
a  fresh  perusal.  It  was  past  the  hour  for  the 
closing  of  the  library ;  but  the  state  of  his 
work  seemed  to  admit  of  no  delay.  He  hoped, 
too,  the  short  walk  in  the  open  air,  and  the 
few  moments'  change  of  employment,  might  re- 
fresh and  clear  his  mind. 


ALONE  IN  THE  LIBRARY.  245 

He  went,  therefore,  to  the  librarian's  room, 
and,  stating  the  urgency  of  the  case,  begged 
the  use  of  the  keys.  His  request  seemed 
reasonable ;  and  his  statement  of  being  hard  at 
work  was  proved  by  his  anxious,  tired  face. 
He  assured  the  librarian  that  he  could  lay  his 
hand  upon  the  book  in  a  minute ;  and  the  keys 
were  intrusted  to  him  without  any  hesitation. 

Cyril  opened  the  doors  of  the  great  hall  of 
books,  and  turned  the  key  in  the  lock  behind 
him.  He  was  all  alone  in  the  lofty,  silent  room. 
Spring  sunlight  streamed  in  through  the  west- 
ern windows  high  above  the  tiers  of  books,  and 
filled  the  arched  vaults  of  the  ceiling  full  of 
yellow  light.  Below,  in  silent  whiteness,  the 
busts  of  great  and  good  men  who  had  helped 
rear  this  treasure-house  of  thought  stood  for 
ever  on  guard  to  protect  its  sanctity.  Behind 
them,  in  ranks  of  thousands,  shelf  above  shelf, 
along  the  walls,  were  ranged  the  volumes  of 
the  wisdom  of  all  ages.  Their  lettered  backs 
gleamed  down  upon  Cyril  with  lines  of  light 
from  far  above  reach,  —  lines  like  the  glitter  of 
lightning  along  dark  clouds  that  were  full  of 
promises  of  blessing  to  the  thirsty  soul. 


246  THE  STORY  OF  CYRIL  RIVERS. 

Cyril  stood  and  looked  about  him,  awe  and 
quietness  stealing  over  his  vexed  spirit.  Ho 
:il ways  liked  to  be  here.  The  common  world, 
with  all  that  was  mean  and  violent  and  sorrow- 
ful in  it,  seemed  shut  out.  The  windows  were 
so  far  up,  they  showed  only  the  clouds  aitd  blue 
sky.  Whatever  of  men's  lives  had  been 
brought  into  this  chamber  was  the  best  part,  — 
the  choice  fruit  of  knowledge  won  by  labor ; 
wisdom  distilled  from  the  experience  of  sorrow  ; 
the  clear  cry  of  warning  wrung  out  by  the 
bitter  knowledge  of  sin,  but  not  the  labor  and 
sorrow  and  foul  sin  themselves.  So,  moreover, 
it  seemed  as  if  whoever  visited  this  place  left 
behind  him  his  weaker  self,  and  appeared 
at  his  best  and  noblest,  to  be  like  the  company 
in  which  he  found  himself.  If  he  were  young, 
he  forgot  the  vanity  which  occupied  his 
thoughts  outside,  and  grew  grave  in  counte- 
nance, looking  about  him  with  momentary 
earnestness  for  help  toward  some  higher  and 
more  rarely-heeded  aim ;  if  he  were  old,  he 
forgot  anxiety,  and  grew  peaceful  at  heart  in 
this  quiet  company.  Shall  I  speak  too  highly 


ALONE  IN  THE  LIBRARY.  247 

of  this  library-hall,  filled  by  wise  and  careful 
judgment,  when  I  see  in  it  some  dim  likeness  of 
that  holy  house  to  which  we  all  are  called  ? 
For  here  are  gathered  the  spirits  of  just  men, 
if  not  yet  made  perfect,  yet  in  their  most  per- 
fect earthly  attainment ;  here  are  an  innumer- 
able company,  if  not  of  angels,  yet  of  thoughts 
whispered  by  angels  to  souls  that  always  waited 
listening ;  here  is  not,  indeed,  the  glorious 
presence  of  the  Mediator  of  the  new  covenant, 
yet  there  are  to  be  found  here  the  results  of 
the  light  and  love  and  knowledge  that  have 
been  growing  and  increasing  in  all  parts  of  the 
world  from  the  establishment  of  that  covenant 
with  men.  Walk  softly  here,  then,  and  subdue 
your  souls  to  purity  and  reverence,  as  in  a 
sacred  spot. 

In  this  place,  so  silent,  so  pleasant,  so  almost 
solemn,  Cyril  was  alone  ;  not  with  exactly 
such  thoughts  as  I  have  written  above,  but 
first  with  a  sense  of  peace  at  just  being  alone. 
He  almost  wished  he  need  never  go  forth  again 
into  the  world  he  had  sinned  against,  and  whose 
condemnation  he  dreaded.  His  own  room 


248  THE  STORY  OF  CYRIL  RIVERS. 

swarmed  with  harassing  regrets  and  dreads : 
there  was  no  solitude  there ;  but  here  they  did 
not  follow  him.  He  believed,  if  he  might 
come  here  to  write,  he  could  soon  finish  the 
essay  over  which  he  had  spent  so  much  labor 
in  vain.  He  was  at  ease  here  ;  he  was  himself 
again.  And  with  this  feeling  of  solitude  came 
a  sense  of  power.  The  great  doors  were 
locked,  and  he  held  the  keys.  The  windows 
were  high  up :  no  eye  could  behold  him.  All 
things  within  the  room  were  at  his  undisturbed 
command. 

He  felt  in  no  haste  now  to  attend  to  his  er- 
rand. He  walked  slowly  along  the  room,  stop- 
ping to  look  musingly  upon  the  strong  or  noble 
features  of  the  marble  likenesses,  or  to  ponder, 
with  childish,  curious  wondering,  the  tablets  of 
stone,  covered  with  hieroglyphics,  that  had 
been  brought  from  ruined  cities  thousands  of 
years  old.  He  was  so  glad  to  forget  himself 
for  a  little  while,  to  hide  himself  within  these 
stone  walls,  ivy-covered  and  book-lined,  from 
the  pursuit  of  fear  and  the  urging  of  necessity  ! 
He  knew  just  where  to  find  the  volume  in 


ALONE  IN  THE  LIBRARY.  249 

search  of  which  he  had  come  ;  but,  instead  of 
hastening  toward  that  corner,  he  seemed  to 
keep  away  from  it.  He  sauntered  into  alcoves 
where  he  had  never  been  before  ;  taking  down 
and  examining  ancient  volumes  pierced  through 
by  the  progress  of  the  little  book-worm  as  by  a 
shot,  or  meddling  with  parchment  manuscripts 
removed  from  the  hand  of  the  transcriber  by 
centuries  of  time. 

At  last,  a  little  gallery  overhead  in  a  recess 
attracted  his  attention.  Heaps  of  pamphlets 
covered  with  dust  appeared  to  be  stowed  away 
there.  There  was  no  ascent  from  the  library- 
hall  to  that  gallery ;  but  Cyril  was  seized  with 
a  strange  desire  to  explore  it.  He  did  not 
stop  to  consider,  that,  by  all  this  loitering  and 
meddling,  he  was  betraying  the  trust  reposed 
in  him  ;  to  say  nothing  of  the  fact,  that,  by  all 
this  idle  delay,  he  risked  destroying  the  labor 
of  the  afternoon  in  the  concentration  of  his 
thought  upon  the  work  he  had  left  to  come 
here.  He  took  the  steps  used  for  reaching 
the  high  shelves,  and  placed  them  against  the 
side  of  the  recess  across  which  the  gallery 


250  THE  STORY  OF  CYRIL  RIVERS. 

bridged.  Standing  upon  them,  he  could  reach 
the  banister  above  with  his  hand.  He  was  ac- 
tive enough  with  the  help  of  that,  and  the 
edge  of  a  shelf  that  offered  another  step  for  his 
foot,  to  make  the  ascent ;  and,  yielding  to  an 
idle  impulse,  he  swung  himself  up,  climbed 
over  the  railing,  and  stood  among  the  dusty 
heaps  of  papers.  What  thing  of  interest  he 
expected  to  find  there,  he  could  not  have  told : 
he  hardly  cared  to  examine  what  was  in  the 
place  now  he  had  reached  it.  There  were 
collections  of  pamphlets  filed  in  orderly  man- 
ner, each  file  labeled  so  as  to  show  the  nature 
of  its  contents ;  there  were  the  annual  cata- 
logues of  the  college  for  many  years  ;  there 
were  memorial  sermons  about  great  men  con- 
nected with  the  institution,  and  the  preachers' 
memorial  sermons  above  those.  Last  of  all, 
Cyril  came  upon  a  great  heap  of  such  orations 
of  students  as  had  been  thought  worthy  of 
being  kept  in  published  form,  —  pamphlets  that 
had  been  accumulating  during  many  years. 

These,  the  efforts  of  young  men  like  him- 
self, —  like   himself  too,  no   doubt,   once   ac- 


ALONE  IN  THE  LIBRARY.  251 

counted  brilliant,  possessed  of  more  than  ordi- 
nary talent,  and  likely  to  win  more  than  or- 
dinary reputation,  yet  most  of  whom  had  some- 
how missed  fame  and  a  great  career,  as  some- 
thing in  his  heart  seemed  to  assure  him  that  he 
should  do,  —  interested  Cyril.  He  took  up  one 
and  another  of  the  little  books,  read  its  title 
and  its  date,  the  name  of  the  author,  and  a 
paragraph  or  two  ;  saying  sadly  to  himself  as 
he  laid  each  one  aside,  "  I  could  do  as  well  as 
that,  or  better,  if  I  could  only  do  my  best.  If 
I  were  only  myself  again  !  I  have  not  found 
one  here  whose  work  shows  powers  superior  to 
mine." 

Such  comparisons  seemed  to  soothe  the  mor- 
tification he  suffered  in  his  present  disability. 

At  last,  he  drew  forth  a  pamphlet  which  at- 
tracted him  by  bearing  a  name  familiar  to  his 
ears,  —  a  name  beginning  to  be  celebrated ; 
that  of  a  writer  whose  works  had  always  given 
Cyril  special  delight.  His  interest  was  greatly 
increased,  as  he  read  the  subject  of  the  oration 
(now  twenty  years  old),  to  find  it  very  similar 
to  the  one  he  had  chosen  for  his  own.  With 


252  THE  STORY  OF  CYRIL  RIVERS. 

eagerness  he  opened  the  pamphlet,  and  began 
to  read. 

He  drew  a  long  sigh  of  pleasure  and  sympa- 
thy as  he  read  the  first  paragraph.  He  was 
struck  with  the  similarity  of  the  style  and 
mode  of  thought  here  shown  to  his  own  in  his 
happiest  moments.  The  surprise  this  feeling 
gave  him  was  increased  as  he  read.  It  was  as 
if  here  was  what  he  had  been  vainly  striving  to 
reach  in  thought,  written  out  nobly  and  fully, 
just  as  he  had  longed  to  write  it.  Here  were 
signs  of  a  mind  exceedingly  like  his  own, 
possessed  of  the  same  age,  the  same  knowledge 
almost,  the  same  tastes,  and  ways  of  thought 
and  feeling,  but  opening  under  better  influ- 
ences, —  the  influences  to  which  Cyril  had 
once  hoped  to  give  himself  up,  but  from  which 
he  had  suffered  little  sins  to  separate  him,  — 
the  influences  of  God's  enlightening  Spirit  ever 
sought  and  obeyed.  As  he  read  on,  and  recog- 
nized this,  Cyril's  pleasure  turned  to  regret  and 
envy  that  were  bitter  in  his  heart. 

But,  before  he  could  finish  the  piece,  it  grew 
too  dark  in  that  dark  recess  for  him  to  read 


ALONE  IN  THE  LIBRARY.  253 

longer.  But  he  could  not  leave  that  pam- 
phlet. He  replaced  all  the  rest  as  he  had  found 
them  ;  but  this  he  put  in  his  breast-pocket,  bent 
upon  examining  it  more  at  his  leisure.  He 
was  not  afraid  to  abstract  it  from  its  place, 
from  which,  in  all  probability,  it  would  never 
be  missed.  He  confessed  to  himself  no  mean 
intent  in  taking  it ;  but  as  he  descended,  and 
put  the  ladder  back  in  its  place,  he  seemed  as 
eager  to  hasten  away  from  the  spot  as  he  had 
been  pleased  to  linger  there  a  few  moments  be- 
fore. The  great  room  had  grown  dreary  in  the 
gathering  dusk  ;  the  dark  walls  frowned  upon 
him,  and  the  ghostly  busts  stared  at  him  with 
their  blank  eyes  with  severe  and  stony  gaze. 
He  would  have  gone  away  without  the  book  for 
which  he  had  come,  but  that  he  remembered, 
as  he  closed  the  door,  that  he  might  be  ques- 
tioned about  it  when  he  returned  the  keys.  He 
hastened  back,  but  could  not  find  it  as  easily  as 
he  had  supposed,  it  was  growing  so  dark.  He 
grew  nervous  in  the  search,  and  his  hands 
trembled,  as  at  last  he  pulled  the  volume  down 
from  its  shelf.  He  hurried  away,  glad  to  be 


254  THE  STORY  OF  CYRIL  RIVERS. 

out  of  the  room,  which  seemed  not  lonely  now, 
but  full  of  spirits  that  whispered  together, 
prophesying  harm,  and  saying  of  him  bitter  and 
reproachful  things. 

He  carried  back  the  keys,  making  some 
plausible  excuse  for  his  stay  in  the  library. 
By  this  time,  the  supper-bell  was  ringing  ;  and 
after  that  came  the  teachers'  meeting,  from 
which  he  seemed  nervously  afraid  to  stay 
away.  It  was  half-past  nine  before  he  was 
again  alone  in  his  room,  ready  to  take  up  his 
writing.  He  read  over  what  he  had  accom- 
plished, more  than  ever  dissatisfied  with  it, 
angry  with  himself  for  his  failure,  and  desper- 
ate at  thinking  that  the  end  of  the  task  seemed 
farther  off  than  when  he  began.  He  sat  a 
while  in  moody  thought,  and  then,  taking  from 
his  pocket  the  oration  he  had  brought  from  the 
library,  slowly  perused  it  again,  drawing  com- 
parisons between  it  and  his  own  effort  all  the 
way.  A  guilty  thought  had  come  into  his 
mind :  I  doubt  if  it  had  not  half  shaped  itself 
to  him  before  he  left  the  library.  But,  under 
cover  of  the  night,  we  seem  less  afraid  to 


ALONE  IN  THE  LIBRARY.  255 

entertain  the  sinful  suggestions  we  harbored, 
hid  even  from  ourselves,  in  the  day.  What  jf, 
in  his  extraordinary  need,  he  should  help  him- 
self by  making  use  of  this  speech  as  his  own  ? 
He  argued  with  himself,  as  the  Devil  can  teach 
a  man  to  argue,  that  it  would  be  no  great 
wrong.  He  could  write  as  well  as  this  was 
written,  perhaps  better ;  with  more  originality 
of  thought,  and  variety  of  illustration,  if  he 
had  only  his  usual  power :  therefore  in  using 
it  he  should  win  no  undue  credit,,  only  save 
the  reputation  he  had  already  earned.  He 
should  wrong  no  one  ;  for  the  essay  had  been 
long  forgotten,  and  would  never  be  recognized  ; 
and,  moreover,  the  reputation  of  its  author 
rested  upon  maturer  works. 

The  thought  presented  a  great  temptation. 
In  this  way  all  his  difficulties  would  be  re- 
moved, his  wearisome  task  be  at  an  end,  and 
his  credit  as  a  writer  be  uninjured.  He  would 
not  take  the  essay  just  as  it  was,  but  re-ar- 
range it,  give  it  a  new  title,  and  introduce  into 
it  such  thoughts  of  his  own  as  seemed  relevant. 

He    had    grown    hardened     and     reckless. 


256  THE  STORY  OF  CYRIL  RIVERS. 

Present  relief  from  a  little  of  the  intolerable 
weight  upon  his  mind  was  all  he  seemed  to  care 
for.  He  had  led  Tom  into  sin  with  little  com- 
punction :  it  was  part  of  his  punishment  that 
he  should  now  yield  so  easily  to  the  same  temp- 
tation himself.. 

His  mind  soon  made  up  as  to  his  course,  he 
set  himself  to  making  such  changes  in  the  stolen 
essay  as  should  make  it  better  suited  to  its  pre- 
tended authorship  and  to  the  new  name  he  had 
chosen  for  it.  Such  parts  of  that  which  he 
had  already  written  as  were  best  and  most 
appropriate,  more  to  propitiate  his  conscience 
than  for  any  need  of  them,  he  ingeniously 
combined  with  the  stolen  paragraphs ;  pleased 
to  see  the  parts  matching  so  well  in  style  and 
sentiment,  that  no  ordinary  observer  could 
have  told  where  the  piecing  was  done. 

By  the  time  he  had  finished  this  work,  he 
had  so  depraved  his  conscience,  that  he  hardly 
seemed  to  know  himself  the  lie  he  was  mak- 
ing. He  handed  in  the  piece  for  his  profess- 
or's examination  with  almost  as  much  compla- 
cency as  if  it  had  been  entirely  his  own.  He 


ALONE  IN  THE  LIBRARY.  257 

was  sure  that  it  would  be  approved.  He 
began  to  feel  now  as  if  he  had- in  some  measure 
regained  freedom  from  care.  Tom  had  promised 
to  obtain  the  money  his  friend  had  asked  for  as 
soon  as  possible,  and  he  would  be  as  good  as 
his  word.  Cyril  thought  he  might  reasonably, 
therefore,  dismiss  his  anxiety  about  his  obliga- 
tion ;  and  began  to  feel  more  confidence  in  his 
ability  to  make  a  way  out  of  his' troubles. 

17 


258  THE  STORY  OF  CYRIL  RIVERS. 


CHAPTER    XIII. 

ABOUT  DRESS. 
"  Girt  about  with  truth." 

WO  weeks  passed  swiftly  away, 
and  the  day  of  the  Junior  Exhibi- 
tion was  at  hand.  The  professor  of 
elocution  had  been  hearing  the 
speakers  rehearse  in  the  chapel  on 
Saturday  afternoon ;  and  those  who  had  fin- 
ished their  parts  were  gathered  by  the  door, 
talking  together,  and  criticising  the  remaining 
speakers.  The  committee  of  arrangements,  of 
whom  Cyril  was  one,  were  holding  some  dis- 
cussion together,  when  they  were  addressed  by 
a  vain  little  fellow  named  Timmens.  Tim- 
mens's  chief  inspiration  all  through  his  college 
course  had  been  the  thought  of  an  opportunity 
of  showing  his  grace  and  ability  upon  a  pub- 
lic stage.  Through  lack  of  breeding,  and 


ABOUT  DRESS.  259 

on  account  of  straitened  circumstances,  that 
thwarted  all  his  desire  for  display,  he  had  met 
countless  mortifications  in  his  career,  without, 
however,  becoming  at  all  humbler  or  wiser. 

He  brought  the  question  to  the  committee, 
whether  the  speakers  at  the  exhibition  must 
all  wear  dress-suits.  "  Because,"  he  continued 
with  eagerness,  "  I've  been  making  inquiries ; 
and  I  find  there  ain't  but  seven  out  of  twenty 
of  us  that  have  got  any  '  swallow-tails.' ' 

"Is  that  so?"  asked  Napier,  one  of  the 
committee,  a  youth  in  whose  consideration  an 
elegant  toilet  was  almost  a  point  of  good 
morals.  "  That  don't  sound  very  well  for  the 
class,  seems  to  me.  I  don't  see  how  a  fellow 
could  wear  any  thing  but  a  dress-coat  on  the 
stage.  They'll  have  to  get  suits  if  they  haven't 
got  'em." 

"  But,"  said  Johnson,  a  farmer's  quick- 
witted boy,  with  strong  common  sense,  but  not 
old  enough  to  be  entirely  independent  of  the 
notions  of  style  prevalent  among  those  with 
whom  he  was  mingling,  "  don't  you  think  it's 
rather  rough  on  a  fellow  to  make  him  spend 


260  THE  STORY  OF  CYRIL  RIVERS. 

sixty  or  seventy-five  dollars  just  to  make  a 
ten-minutes'  shine  with  ?  I'd  rather  have  the 
money  for  something  else." 

'.'  Why,  it  isn't  just  for  one  occasion :  you 
always  want  a  dress-suit,  man.  It's  a  means 
of  civilization  ;  enables  a  man  to  embrace  with 
credit  all  the  opportunities  he  has  of  going  into 
the  best  society.  Keep  yourself  suitably 
dressed,  and  you  can  go  anywhere." 

"  Yes,"  said  another,  —  a  minister's  son, 
like  Cyril.  "  But  suppose  you  really  haven't 
the  money  to  pay  for  the  means  of  civilization : 
what  then  ?  " 

"  Why,  then,"  said  Napier  a  little  scornfully, 
"  of  course  I  don't  know  what  you  can  do. 
But  I'd  advise  all  of  you  who  can,  for  the  credit 
of  the  class,  to  get  properly  dressed.  You 
fellows,  most  of  you,  don't  go  anywhere  where 
there  are  ladies  from  one  term's  end  to  another. 
You  think  you  don't  need  any  thing  but  hob- 
nailed boots  and  rusty  walking-suits  to  lounge 
round  college  in  :  and  so,  when  you  do  happen 
to  want  something  better,  you  think  it's  too 
much  trouble  or  expense  to  get  it  just  for  this, 


ABOUT  DRESS.  261 

or  just  for  that ;  and  you  do  without.  It's  a 
disgrace  to  you,  I  think. 

"  But  then,"  he  added,  turning  to  one  or 
two  intimate  friends  who  stood  near  him,  and 
lowering  his  voice,  "  what  a  pity  it  is  that  half 
the  fellows  that  get  good  appointments  are  poor 
fellows  !  On  such  occasions  as  this,  we  hardly 
make  a  decent  show  of  gentlemen." 

Cyril  felt  a  twinge  of  shame.  How  was  it 
that  he  was  going  to  make  a  show  in  wearing 
the  traditional  dress  of  Napier's  gentleman  ? 

Meanwhile,  Timmens  had  turned  to  some  of 
those,  who,  like  himself,  suffered  from  the  lack 
of  black  broadcloth,  and  was  explaining  to  them 
the  plan  by  which  he  thought  he  might' satisfy 
his  vanity  in  spite  of  his  poverty  ;  for  indeed  he 
did  feel  that  it  would  be  a  serious  mortification 
to  be  obliged  to  appear  upon  the  stage  in 
costume  not  the  most  approved. 

"  Here  we  are,  fellows,"  he  said,  "  with  coats 
and  pants  of  all  shades.  I  say,  it  won't  do  ; 
but  I  can't  afford  to  have  a  new  suit  any  more 
than  the  rest  of  you." 

"  Well,  what  are  you  going  to  do  about  it, 
then  ?  "  said  Johnson^ 


262  THE  STORY  OF  CYRIL  RIVERS. 

"  Why,  I'll  tell  you.  Subscribe  and  hire  a 
suit  that'll  fit  the  average  of  us  ;  and  let  each 
one  take  his  turn  to  speak  in  it.  The  fit  of  the 
coat  won't  be  noticed  a  little  way  off;  and 
there  isn't  such  an  awful  difference  in  our  sizes 
anyway."  And  Timmens  straightened  himself 
beside  tall  Johnson,  very  much  like  the  frog 
that  was  so  sure  of  her  ability  to  swell  to  the 
size  of  an  ox. 

"  Well,"  said  Johnson,  smiling,  "  if  you 
could  make  that  plan  answer,  I  should  think 
the  rest  of  us  might.  But  I  never  wore  any- 
body's clothes  but  my  own  yet ;  and  I  shouldn't 
like  to  be  doing  it  for  the  first  time  in  public." 

"  But  you  see,"  said  Timmens  with  great 
earnestness,  "  you  haven't  got  any  clothes  that 
are  fit  now ;  but,  for  half  a  dollar  apiece,  ten 
of  us  might  have  a  suit,  and  come  out  in  real 
stunning  style.  I  don't  see  what  else  there  is 
to  do.  They've  laid  down  the  law  that  we 
must  wear  black,  and  we  can't  afford  to  buy  it. 
If  we  do  the  best  we  can  in  this  way,  nobody 
can  complain. 

"You  see,"  continued  Timmens,  who   was 


ABOUT  DRESS.  263 

going  to  make  a  capital  pettifogger  for  pertina- 
city and  ingenuity,  "  I  don't  say  we  shall  make 
any  pretense  about  it.  We  can  have  a  dress- 
ing-room off  that  side  of  the  stage ;  and  we  go 
in  there  in  gray  or  brown  clothes,  and 
come  out  in  black  ones.  It's  like  tableaux,  or 
any  thing  else,  when  we've  got  to  play  a  part, 
and  have  a  dress  suited  to  it.  Anybody  may 
understand  that  takes  the  trouble  to  notice. 
We  don't  pretend  any  thing  about  it.  Ain't 
that  sensible  ground  to  put  it  on  ?  What  do 
you  all  say  ?  " 

"  I  say,"  said  Bowson,  his  eyes  twinkling, 
"  it's  a  capital  idea.  I  go  in  for  it.  It'll 
save  me  seventy-four  and  a  half  dollars,  and 
very  likely  a  row  with  my  paternal  about 
another  bill  he  didn't  expect." 

Bowson  was  one  who  had  a  very  liberal 
allowance  from  his  father,  but  who,  having  lit- 
tle taste  for  general  society,  and  plenty  of  ways 
of  spending  for  his  own  gratification  other  than 
in  dress,  was  more  frequently  seen  in  clothing 
proper  for  the  base-ball  ground,  or  the  boating- 
house,  than  in  any  thing  more  elegant.  He 


264  THE  STORY  OF  CYRIL  RIVERS. 

was  too  much  of  a  boy  yet  to  care  a  great  deal 
for  conventionalities  ;  and  yet  he,  too,  felt  it 
incumbent  on  him,  upon  this  occasion,  to  do  as 
others  of  his  means  did. 

But  the  considerations  he  had  expressed 
were  not  all  that  influenced  him.  There  was 
always  in  Bowson  a  flow  of  kindly  sympathy 
toward  others,  revealing  itself  under  many  dis- 
guises, in  hidden  ways,  that  was  like  the  laugh- 
ing meadow-brook,  along  whose  course  flowers 
and  fresh  grasses  spring  up,  and  hide  the  sweet 
waters  by  which  they  flourish.  He  saw  these 
"  poor  fellows,"  with  as  strong  a  desire  to  be  in 
the  fashion  as  other  young  men,  gathered 
together  to  help  each  other  put  the  best  face 
possible  upon  their  little  vexation ;  and,  while 
Napier  deplored  their  condition  as  discreditable 
to  the  class,  a  generous  impulse  moved  Bowson 
with  good-natured  hyprocrisy  to  pretend  that 
he  was  one  of  their  party,  well  aware  that  the 
companionship  of  one  not  necessitated  to  do  as 
they  did  made  their  case  easier,  and  conscious 
that  his  merry  humor  could  make  pass  off  lightly 
what  might  be,  to  some  of  them  at  least,  an 


ABOUT  DRESS.  265 

awkward  and  trying  matter.  And  when  he 
said  gayly,  "  A  capital  plan  !  "  there  was  a  bright- 
ening immediately  in  some  of  the  faces  that  had 
been  a  little  anxious  and  discontented. 

Even  Johnson  began  to  think  it  was  no  such 
discreditable  thing  to  wear  other  people's 
clothes,  provided  it  was  an  understood  matter, 
and  a  necessary  part  of  the  evening's  cere- 
monies. 

But  while  they  were  settling  the  arrangement, 
getting  the  names  of  those  who  Avould  sub- 
scribe, and  agreeing  to  whom  the  coat  that  was 
to  answer  for  all  should  be  fitted,  John  Seelye 
came  down  from  the  long  drilling  in  pronun- 
ciation and  gesture  to  which  the  professor  of 
elegant  taste  had  felt  it  necessary  to  subject 
him. 

"  Halloo  !  "  said  Timmens  :  "  here's  another  ! 
Put  your  name  down  to  our  subscription, 
Seelye,  and  have  a  share  in  the  dress-coat  for 
the  exhibition." 

"  What  ?  "  said  John,  surprised. 

"  Why,  we  fellows  that  haven't  got  good 
clothes  to  speak  before  the  ladies  in,  have  to 


266  THE  STORY  OF  CYRIL  RIVERS. 

'  rag  out '  somehow  for  the  credit  of  the  class  ; 
and  we  are  going  to  do  it  on  the  co-operation 
principle,  —  we  subscribe  and  hire  a  coat,  and 
each  one  wears  it  in  turn." 

"  Big  and  little,  long  and  short,  fat  and  lean," 
said  Bowson  gravely. 

John  could  not  help  smiling.  "  Do  you 
mean,  Timmens,"  he  said,  "  that  I  am  to  wear 
the  same  coat  as  you  ?  " 

"  Why,  yes,"  said  Timmens.  "  It'll  be  a 
little  too  tight  for  you,  and  a  little  too  loose  for 
me  ;  but  it  won't  make  much  difference.  If 
there's  any  fellow  that  really  can't  wear  it,  I 
guess  he  can  borrow  one  among  the  fellows." 

John  was  still  smiling;  but  he  shook  his 
head.  "  No,  Timmens,"  said  he,  "  I  won't 
borrow  a  coat,  nor  hire  one.  If  the  ladies  don't 
like  the  best  clothes  I've  got,  I'm  sure  I'm 
sorry ;  but  I  can't  help  it." 

"  But  you  see,"  said  Timmens,  "  it's  custom- 
ary to  wear  a  black  suit ;  and  the  committee 
are  anxious  to  have  all  of  us  do  so  that  possibly 
can." 

"  But  I  can't,"  said  John.     "  I  have  not  got 


ALOUT  DRESS.  267 

one ;  and  no  man's  coat  will  fit  me  but  my 
own." 

"  Ho !  "  said  Bowson,  trying  his  powers  of 
persuasion  :  "  you  needn't  feel  so  big !  Here's 
Johnson,  as  broad-shouldered  as  you  are:  if 
we  can  fix  him  in  it,  I  guess  we  can  you. 
Come,  now,  you  ain't  going  up  there  with  those 
brown  clothes :  do  as  the  rest  of  us  do." 

"  Yes,"  said  John,  "  I'm  going  up  with 
these  very  clothes.  I'm  sorry  you  don't  like 
'em,  fellows  ;  but  you  see  I  couldn't  wear  any 
other.  To  dress  up  in  fine  clothes  that  don't 
belong  to  me,  just  for  one  occasion,  seems  to 
me  a  little  like  deceiving  folks.  I  don't  want  to 
look  better  or  richer  than  I  am,  even  for  five 
minutes,  and  to  a  house  full  of  strangers. 
There's  one  lady  at  least,  I  know,  would  take 
no  pleasure  in  seeing  me  so." 

"Eh!  who's  that ?"  said  Bowson  curiously. 

"  My  sister,"  said  John,  speaking  soberly. 
"  She  taught  me  the  first  things  I  ever  learned ; 
and  one  of  them  was  to  speak  and  act  truly  in 
all  manner  of  little  things  if  I  wanted  to  be  true 
in  great  things." 


268  THE  STORY  OF  CYRIL  RIVERS. 

There  was  a  little  silence  at  this  earnest 
mention  of  a  sister's  teaching.  I  will  say  here, 
that,  at  the  exhibition,  the  fellows  saw  this 
sister  of  John's.  He  had  reserved  for  her  a 
prominent  seat,  and  waited  upon  her  with  great 
respject.  She  was  a  New-England  school-mis- 
tress, over  forty  years  of  age,  tall  and  angular, 
and  very  plain  in  face  and  dress ;  but  the 
shrewd,  bright  and  kindly  expression  of  her 
face  proved  hers  to  be  one  of  the  characters 
that  always  distribute  strength  and  blessing  in 
every  sphere  where  they  work.  She  it  was, 
who,  with  the  most  limited  opportunities  of 
education  herself,  had  been  wise  enough  to 
inspire  her  young  brother  with  the  reverence 
for  cultivation  which  had  brought  him  to  college 
and  insured  his  success  tliere.  There  was 
reason  why  he  should  wait  upon  her  with 
marked  respect ;  and  she  had  a  right  to  be 
pleased  and  proud  over  the  results  of  her  work 
as  she  heard  him  speak. 

"  But  you  don't  really  think  there's  any  thing 
wrong  in  our  just  putting  on  another  coat  to 
speak  in,  do  you  ?  "  said  Johnson  to  Seelye. 


ABOUT  DRESS.  269 

"  Why,  no,"  said  John,  considering.  "  I 
wouldn't  say  it  was  wrong  ;  and  yet  it  seeuis  a 
little  like  wrong.  You  see,  you  are  not  inde- 
pendent enough  to  wear  what  you've  got,  be- 
cause folks  think  you  ought  to  have  something 
else.  You  haven't  got  it,  and  so  you  contrive 
to  seem  to  have  it.  And,  the  next  time  you 
can't  do  exactly  as  other  people  do,  you  will 
be  still  less  independent,  and  you  will  contrive 
some  way  to  seem  again.  And  so,  when  you 
get  farther  on  in  life,  and  perhaps  get  a  wife 
that  feels  just  as  you  do,  —  only  more  so,  — 
you  will  want  to  appear  better  off  than  you  are 
on  a  great  many  occasions ;  and  you'll  cheat 
yourself  out  of  comfort,  and  cheat  other  peo- 
ple with  falsities,  and  very  likely  get  into  debt, 
and  make  a  bad  citizen." 

"  Phew  —  ew  !  "  said  Bowson.  "  And  all 
because  I  changed  my  coat  to  speak  at  the 
Junior  Exhibition !  " 

"Yes,"  said  John,  smiling;  "just  to  please 
the  ladies  with  the  show.  Don't  you  see  how 
bad  it  is  to  encourage  them  in  such  ideas  ?  Be 
sure  they'll  make  you  sorry  for  it  one  of  these 


270  THE  STORY  OF  CYRIL  RIVERS. 

days.  Instead  of  letting  them  lead  you  into 
unnecessary  extravagance,  you  ought,  by  your 
example  and  ideas,  to  check  their  tendency 
that  way." 

"  Phew  —  ew  !  "  cried  Bowson  again. 
"  You  don't  mean  to  make  us  responsible  for 
all  their  follies  ?  " 

"  No,"  said  John,  "  except  as  every  man  is, 
in  a  measure,  responsible  for  public  opinion.  I 
don't  know  much  about  women  myself,  except 
one  good  one ;  but  I  judge  they  are  pretty 
much  like  the  rest  of  the  world  in  wishing  to 
do  as  others  do,  and  are  as  much  influenced  by 
what  they  think  you  require  as  you  are  this 
minute  by  what  you  think  they  will  consider 
proper.  But  you  needn't  go  out  of  your  way 
to  settle  your  duties  to  them :  just  look  out  for 
your  duty  to  yourself.  You  have  a  perfect 
right  to  do  as  you  please,  boys,  in  this  little 
thing  ;  but  as  for  me,"  —  swinging  his  hat,  and 
imitating  the  endeavor  he  had  been  making  in 
his  elocution-lesson,  —  "  give  me  liberty  in 
honesty,  or  give  me  death." 

"  Hurrah  for   Seelye  !  "    cried   Bowson  as 


ABOUT  DRESS.  271 

John  passed  out.  "  There's  the  genuine  in- 
vincible pluck  that'll  go  through  fire  and  water, 
silk  and  broadcloth,  after  common  sense,  as 
easy  as  a  bullet  through  paper.  I  say,  fellows, 
I  like  what  he  says.  What  do  you  say  ?  Don't 
you  think,  now,  we  owe  it  as  a  duty  to  our 
fair  sisters  to  show  them  our  independence  of  a 
stupid  old  custom,  by  making  our  bow  to  them 
in  the  best  clothes  we've  got,  without  going 
out  to  hire  something  better  ?  It's  a  mean 
kind  of  shamming,  after  all,  to  wear  one  thing 
in  the  audience,  and  another  thing  upon  the 
stage.  It's  degrading  the  occasion,  a's  if  it 
were  a  sort  of  play." 

"  So  I  say,"  answered  Johnson  heartily.  "  I 
shall  do  as  Seelye  does.  I  don't  believe  I 
could  speak  a  single  word  if  I  got  up  there  in, 
another  man's  clothes,  I  should  feel  so  cheap. 
I'd  rather  wear  my  gray  coat,  if  folks  do 
stare." 

"  It  won't  be  any  matter  at  all,"  said  another, 
"  as  long  as  there  are  enough  of  us  to  keep 
each  other  in  countenance." 

"  What    do    you    say,   Timmens  ? "    asked 


272  THE  STORY  OF  CYRIL  RIVERS. 

Bowson,  perceiving  slyly  that  the  aspiring 
youth's  countenance  had  fallen  somewhat. 

"  Why,  if  the  rest  don't  care,  of  course  I 
don't,"  said  Timmens.  "  But  I  don't  believe 
that  backwoods  fellow  knows  any  thing;  and 
I  guess  you'll  all  be  rather  mortified,  when  it 
comes  case  in  hand,  not  to  be  dressed  up  prop- 
erly." 

"  Well,  if  we  are,"  said  Bowson,  "  we'll 
consider  what  we're  doing,  by  the  power  of 
example,  for  all  the  giddy  girls;  and  that'll 
console  us.  I  guess  we'll  abide  by  what  clothes 
we've  got." 

Cyril,  whom  Napier  had  left,  and  who  stood 
by  and  listened  to  this  discussion,  couldn't  join 
in  the  laughter  and  jokes  of  the  light-hearted 
.crowd  as  they  followed  Bowson  sauntering 
away.  If  Cyril  had  had  John's  manliness,  or 
if  he  had  had  Bowson's  good  sense  in  choosing 
the  honorable  course  when  it  was  pointed  out 
to  him,  he  would  not  have  been  to-day  a  man 
harassed  by  debt  and  dishonesty.  He  went 
away  to  his  room,  bitterly  reproaching  himself 
for  his  folly,  but  not  yet  remembering  that  the 


ABOUT  DRESS.  273 

fear  of  the  Lord,  the  wisdom  that  the  weakest 
mind  upon  the  smallest  occasions  may  take  for 
its  sure  defense,  would  have  protected  him  if 
he  had  not  cast  it  away. 

18 


274  THE  STORY  OF  CYRIL  RIVERS. 


CHAPTER     XIV. 

THE    EXHIBITION. 

"  For  he  is  cast  into  a  net  by  his  own  feet." 

• 

'YRIL'S  stolen  oration  had  come 
back  to  him  unsuspected,  and  with 
praises.  He  had  perfected  himself 
in  speaking  it.  He  felt  no  fear  in 
using  it :  it  had  been  forgotten  for 
twenty  years. 

On  that  evening  of  the  exhibition,  all  other 
anxieties  were  swallowed  up  in  one.  That 
afternoon  he  had  received  a  short  note  from 
his  sister,  bidding  him  take  the  first  train  home 
after  the  speaking,  for  his  father  had  grown 
unexpectedly  and  rapidly  worse,  and  was  not 
expected  to  survive  more  than  a  day  or  two 
longer.  Before  the  warning  of  such  an  im- 
pending sorrow  all  other  fears  looked  trivial, 


THE  EXHIBITION.  275 

even  while  they  added  an  unspeakable  remorse 
to  its  weight. 

Cyril  was  one  of  the  ushers,  and  wore  again 
the  blue  ribbon  in  his  button-hole.  But  his 
manner  to-night  was  very  different  from  the 
gay  complacency  he  had  shown  at  the  prome- 
nade concert.  Not  all  the  "  nods  and  becks 
and  wreathed  smiles  "  of  the  young  ladies  of 
his  acquaintance  in  various,  parts  of  the  house 
could  call  any  answering  smile  upon  his  pale, 
wan  face,  or  enliven  the  weary,  absorbed  man- 
ner in  which  he  was  performing  his  duties. 

As  soon  as  the  music  began,  and  the  rustle 
of  dresses,  and  stir  of  seating  the  late-comers, 
had  subsided,  he  went  up  to  the  corner  near 
the  stage,  where  some  of  his  classmates  were, 
and,  finding  a  seat  among  them,  leaned  his 
head  upon  his  hand,  trying  to  banish  the 
thoughts  which  crowded  so  thick  and  fast  upon 
his  mind,  that  he  feared  they  would  utterly 
drive  out  the  speech  he  had  committed  to  mem- 
ory so  carefully.  His  companions  rallied  him 
upon  his  downcast  looks,  attributing  them  to 
the  nervousness  which  excited  some  of  the 


276  THE  STORY  OF  CYRIL  RIVERS. 

others  who  were  to  be  speakers.  So,  at  last, 
he  gently  told  them  what  news  he  had  received 
from  home  ;  and,  after  that,  he  could  not  but 
be  touched  and  comforted  by  the  kind  consider- 
ation and  sympathy  they  showed  him. 

One  after  another  of  his  classmates  appeared 
upon  the  stage,  and  went  through  with  what 
was  to  each  the  great  event  of  the  evening ; 
each  receiving,  as  he  finished,  a  hearty  round 
of  applause  from  his  friends  below.  There 
was  Johnson,  whose  frank  address  and  simple 
good  sense  made  up  for  some  boyishness  in  his 
thought,  and  mode  of  expression.  There  was 
Napier,  whose  neat  little  essay,  fine  and  smooth 
and  finished,  and  fragrant  with  delicate  flowers 
of  fancy,  was  so  very  characteristic ;  there  was 
Timmens,  whose  appearance  at  last,  in  a  very 
stylish  dress-suit,  created  almost  audible  laugh- 
ter among  some  who  had  heard  the  conversa- 
tion recorded  in  the  last  chapter,  and  whose 
ludicrous  oration  upon  Daniel  Webster,  of 
whose  mighty  genius  it  was  not  in  the  nature 
of  possibility  for  Timmens's  little  head  to  hold 
the  remotest  conception,  completed  the  amuse- 


THE  EXHIBITION.  277 

merit  of  the  hearers.  There  was  Bowson, 
whose  bright  and  humorous  essay,  and  whose 
popularity,  won  him  a  double  round  of  ap- 
plause. There  was  John  Seelye,  whose  words, 
concise,  plain,  and  forcible,  caused  at  least  one 
face  in  the  audience  to  beam  with  intense  satis- 
faction. 

But  Cyril  had  hardly  heard  one  word  of  the 
whole,  or  ceased  from  the  mental  repetition 
of  his  piece,  —  an  occupation  he  found  the 
safest  to  keep  off  agonizing  thoughts.  He  had 
applauded  when  the  rest  did,  as  a  matter  of 
course ;  and  now  and  then  the  fragment  of 
some  stately  sentence  about  truth  or  honor  or 
immortality  —  those  lofty  things  that  so  many 
youth  love  to  'dignify  their  essays  by  writing 
about,  but  not  their  lives  by  striving  for  — 
would  catch  his  ear,  distressing  him  with  a 
sound  like  the  loud  outcry  of  public  blame. 

At  last  his  own  namo  was  called  ;  and  col- 
lecting himself,  with  the  remembrance  of  the 
public  eye  upon  him,  he  put  his  manuscript 
into  the  hand  of  his  prompter,  and  went 
toward  the  stage. 


278  THE  STORY  OF  CYRIL  RIVERS. 

He  passed,  as  he  went,  a  stranger  sitting  in 
one  of  the  front  pews.  He  was  a  noticeable 
man,  with  fine  and  intellectual  features,  and  an 
exceedingly  cheerful  and  animated  expression. 
His  bright  dark  eyes  let  nothing  escape  their 
notice,  and  seemed  to  convey  to  him  a  better 
understanding  of  men  and  things  than  most 
persons  can  gain  from  mere  vision.  Those 
eyes  were  watching  the  events  of  the  evening 
with  an  interest  different  from  the  quiet,  con- 
descending one  of  most  middle-aged  persons 
present ;  with  an  interest  as  fresh  and  genuine 
as  that  of  the  most  enthusiastic  school-girl  in 
the  house.  The  stranger  was  reviewing  the 
scenes  of  his  youth  for  the  first  time  after  a 
lapse  of  twenty  years. 

His  name  was  one  never  mentioned  without 
complimentary  titles, — such  as  the  honorable, 
the  eloquent,  the  wise,  the  accomplished;  and 
the  learned  president  and  professors  of  the  col- 
lege, upon  whom  he  had  looked  with  such  awe 
when  he  received  his  diploma  at  their  hands, 
had  hastened  to  pay  him  marks  of  respect  as 
soon  as  mention  was  made  of  his  presence  in 


THE  EXHIBITION.  279 

the  town.  One  of  those  professors  sat  beside 
him  now,  answering  his  questions ;  a  pale, 
stooping,  grave  man,  whose  quiet  face  was  a 
complete  contrast  to  the  stranger's  bright, 
vivacious  one.  The  one  man  was  like  a  golden 
lamp  all  aflame  for  light  and  warmth ;  the 
other  like  a  silver  censer,  from  which  the 
softly-consuming  ashes  of  precious  intellectual 
growths  —  growths  found  dried  and  shut  up  in 
many  books  —  diffused  a  sweet,  ever-ascending 
perfume,  an  air  sacred  and  stimulating,  that 
youth  could  not  breathe  without  refinement. 

The  stranger  was  saying  to  himself  that  no 
consciousness  of  success  now  was  half  as  sweet 
as  that  with  which  he  descended  the  stairs  of 
that  stage  twenty  years  ago  amidst  the  ap- 
plause his  youthful  effort  had  excited.  As  he 
sat  and  watched  the  young  men,  he  seemed  to 
have  returned  to  that  hour.  He  was  one  of 
them,  passing  through  just  such  emotions  as 
those  with  which  they  went  up  and  descended 
from  the  stage.  None  of  them  guessed  how 
much  sympathy  was  in  the  heart  of  this  distin- 
guished-looking stranger.  He  appeared  so 


280  THE  STORY  OF  CYRIL  RIVERS. 

keen,  and  perhaps  so  critical,  that  some  of 
them  almost  faltered  as  they  spoke,  catching 
his  eye  upon  them. 

Now,  as  Cyril  went  forward  to  the  stage, 
his  appearance  especially  attracted  this  gentle- 
man. "  There  goes  myself,  I  think,"  he 
silently  soliloquized,  leaning  forward  to  look,  — 
"  my  very  self  as  I  was  twenty  years  ago. 
Only  if  my  promise  equaled  this  young  man's, 
as  I  judge  it  from  his  looks,  how  far  short  of 
it  I  must  have  fallen  ! 

"  But  then,"  he  continued,  after  another 
glance  at  Cyril's  face,  as  it  now  looked  down 
from  the  stage,  "  I  surely  never  wore  a  face  as 
wearied  and  melancholy  as  that.  My  life  was 
all  bright  and  hopeful  in  those  days.  It  is  sad 
—  it  betokens  something  wrong,  I  am  afraid  — 
to  see  a  brow  so  youthful  so  darkened.  What 
can  be  the  cause  ?  " 

And  then  he  thought,  "  How  gracefully  he 
stands !  What  a  sweet  and  flexible  voice  he 
has!  What  an  elegant  and  striking  opening 
sentence  that  is  !  This  young  man  is  one  who 
has  certainly  all  the  gifts  of  a  successful 


THE  EXHIBITION.  281 

speaker ;  and  I  see,  by  the  fire  brightening  in 
his  eye,  and  the  color  corning  upon  his  cheek, 
that  he  loves  to  use  them. 

"  Ah !  what  is  this  ?  He  is  hitting  upon  the 
very  vein  of  thought  where  I  fancied  I  had 
found  gold  twenty  years  ago,  when  I  won 
the  Appleton  medal.  This  is  curious,  —  very 
curious.  Hark !  " 

The  stranger  ceased  his  soliloquy  in  aston- 
ishment, listening  to  the  words  of  the  dis- 
course. If  any  of  those  near  had  been  watch- 
ing his  face,  they  would  have  been  amazed  at 
the  startled  and  dismayed  look  it  wore  in  the 
few  following  seconds.  He  could  scarcely 
believe  his  ears  as  he  heard  Cyril  uttering 
sentences  as  familiar,  as  much  a  part  of  him- 
self as  it  were,  as  his  own  name,  —  sentences, 
every  word  of  which  had  been  a  carefully- 
placed  touch  that  helped  to  make  pictures, 
all  of  whose  brightness  no  eye  but  the  author's 
could  ever  see.  Himself  as  he  had  been  he 
had  called  Cyril ;  but  was  there  any  possible 
likeness  of  mind  that  could  enable  one  man  to 
think  the  very  same  thoughts,  and  express 


282  THE  STORY  OF  CYRIL  RIVERS. 

them  in  the  very  same  words,  as  another  ? 
Ah,  no !  As  the  gentleman  began  to  see  the 
truth  through  the  bewilderment  into  which  hn 
had  been  at  first  thrown,  his  heart  sank  with 
shame  and  pity  for  poor  Cyril.  He  knew  he 
could  not  be  mistaken  :  the  words  of  his  most 
earnest  and  ambitious  youthful  effort  were  like 
none  he  had  written  since.  Moreover,  they 
were  coming,  in  their  carefully-made  arrange- 
ment and  connection,  back  to  his  mind,  antici- 
pated from  Cyril's  lips. 

The  stranger  was  not  angry,  but  a  little  hurt 
at  feeling  that  what  had  once  seemed,  even 
though  at  so  distant  a  day,  sacred  and  noble, 
the  best  fruit  of  his  mind,  should  be  stolen  and 
profaned.  The  most  like  to  an  unkind  emotion 
that  he  had,  he  experienced  in  the  sarcastic 
scorn  which  curled  his  lip  as  he  listened  when 
his  first  astonishment  had  subsided. 

"  You  do  it  well,"  he  began  silently  com- 
menting again.  "  You  evidently  understand 
it.  Who  could  suspect  you  had  stolen  what 
you  repeat  with  such  earnestness?  That 
accent  I  know  I  did  not  use  in  that  place  ; 


THE  EXHIBITION.  283 

but,  nevertheless,  your  way  renders  the  mean- 
ing with  considerable  power.  Ah  !  you  have 
changed  that  illustration  for  one  which  alludes 
to  things  of  more  modern  occurrence.  Cun- 
ningly done  ;  and  those  interpolations  come  as 
if  they  belonged  there.  Ah,  what  a  pity  that 
such  fine  talent  should  employ  itself  in 
fraud  !  " 

And,  with  that  sigh,  all  lighter  and  more 
unworthy  feeling  vanished  from  the  noble 
heart  in  kind  concern  for  the  poor  youth  wrho 
stood  there,  so  unconscious  of  his  disgrace ; 
nay,  so  proud  because  the  audience  were  re- 
markably attentive  to  the  words  they  deemed 
his  own. 

"  What  shall  J  do  ?  "  thought  the  stranger. 
"  To  let  him  go  unaware  of  his  detection  would 
be  most  cruel  kindness.  Shall  I  go  and  talk 
with  him  myself,  but  let  the  thing  be  for  ever 
hidden  between  himself  and  me  ?  But  I  am 
afraid  that  will  not  answer.  One  who  could 
do  such  a  thing  as  this  must  require  bitter  and 
long-to-be-remembered  punishment.  Besides, 
he  has  deceived  the  whole  community.  Ho 


284  THE  STORY  OF  CYRIL  RIVERS. 

has  cheated  his  teachers,  and  entered  into 
rivalry  with  his  companions  unfairly.  They 
have  all  a  right  to  know." 

And  so  he  thought  it  best  to  make  the  reve- 
lation while  he  had  the  proof  ready  to  hand. 
He  touched  the  arm  of  the  professor  beside 
him,  who  was  listening  with  unusual  pleasure. 
The  change  in  the  stranger's  face,  which,  lately 
animated  and  smiling,  was  now  grave  and  se- 
vere, surprised  the  old  man  ;  but  how  he  was 
shocked  when  he  listened  to  what  the  stranger 
had  to  tell !  He  could  hardly  bring  himself  to 
believe  it. 

"  Sir,"  he  said,  very  much  agitated,  "  this 
is  such  a  serious  charge  to  bring  againsfe  the 
young  man  !  There  must  be  some  mistake,  — 
some  remarkable  coincidence  :  it  can  not  be  a 
fraud." 

"  Listen,"  said  the  stranger ;  and  he  began 
anticipating  Cyril's  sentences,  word  for  word, 
for  whole  paragraphs ;  while  the  professor,  lis- 
tening with  astonishment  and  grief,  was  no  lon- 
ger able  to  doubt  Cyril's  guilt.  The  real 
author  of  the  main  part  of  the  speech  readily 


THE  EXHIBITION.  285 

distinguished  such  portions  of  it  as  were  not  his 
own,  bidding  the  old  man  notice  a  certain  dif- 
ference in  Cyril's  manner  of  delivering  them  ; 
an  intensity  and  weight  being  given  to  that 
which  he  had  himself  written,  which  no  art 
could  teach  him  to  use  in. reciting  the  composi- 
tions of  another,  as  an  additional  proof.  Cyr- 
il's deed  was  but  too  evident :  not  even  the  char- 
ity that  hopetli  all  things  could  refuse  to  see  it. 

As  Cyril  finished  his  speech,  and  made  his 
parting  bow,  his  glance  distinguished  two  out 
of  the  thousand  faces  of  the  audience,  —  two 
that  were  looking  at  him  with  such  severity 
and  sorrow,  that  he  was  startled.  He  left  the 
stage  with  an  uneasy  feeling,  that  the  shower 
of  bouquets  he  was  forced  to  stop  and  gather 
up,  and  the  triple  round  of  applause  that  was 
given  him,  could  not  soothe  away. 

Those  two  faces  were  still  turned  upon  him 
when  he  had  come  down  and  stood  receiving  the 
congratulations  of  his  classmates.  They  trou- 
bled him  exceedingly.  They  seemed  to  make 
visible  to  him  the  aspect  of  his  conscience, 
against  whose  vexation  he  had  so  persistently 


286  THE  STORY  OF  Cl'RIL  RIVERS. 

shut  the  door  of  his  heart.  lie  could*  not  stay 
to  endure  them  longer.  He  began  hastily  tak- 
ing leave  of  his  friends,  explaining  that  he 
must  prepare  to  start  for  home  immediately. 

They  let  him  go  with  many  expressions  of 
affection  and  sympathy.  At  the  door,  he  found 
Tom  Racldon  waiting  for  him.  Cyril  was  glad 
of  an  opportunity  to  speak  with  him.  He  put 
his  arm  through  Tom's,  and  asked  him  to  come 
a  little  way  down  the  street.  Tom  was  to  re- 
main in  town  during  the  short  spring  vacation. 
Cyril  spoke  of  his  father's  sickness,  and  of  his 
being  obliged  to  hurry  away,  leaving  many  of 
his  affairs  in  disorder.  He  asked  if  Tom 
would  send  on  to  him  any  letters,  especially 
city  letters,  that  might  come  to  his  address  here 
in  his  absence  ;  and,  if  at  any  time  Tom  should 
get  the  sixty  dollars  he  had  promised,  would  he 
put  it  in  a  directed  envelope  which  Cyril  gave 
him,  and  have  it  sent  to  its  destination  ?  The 
envelope  was  addressed  to  the  melodeon  mer- 
chant, and  contained  his  bill.  Cyril  briefly  ex- 
plained the  story  to  Tom,  as  he  must  needs  do. 

"  I  paid  for  my  clothes  first,  you  see,"  he 


THE  EXHIBITION.  287 

said,  "because  that  had  been  longest  owed. 
And  now  I  have  to  look  to  you,  Tom,  for  the 
other.  It's  a  worse  debt,  I  know  ;  for  I'm  re- 
sponsible to  those  who  have  once  raised  the 
money  to  pay  it." 

Cyril  could  see  that  even  Tom  was  some- 
what shocked  at  the  revelation.  "  I  was  a 
fool,  Tom,"  he  said  ;  "  but,  oh !  I've  suffered 
for  it,  I  tell  you:  so  forgive  me,  and  stand 
by  me,  won't  you  ?  for  I've  no  one  else  to 
look  to." 

Tom's  generous  heart  was  easily .  softened. 
He  promised  to  do  all  for  Cyril  that  lay  in  his 
power,  and  assure'd  him  that  it  should  be  all 
made  right  soon. 

Cyril  thanked  him  with  sincere  gratitude  ; 
and,  at  the  door  of  his  room,  they  shook  hands 
and  parted. 

Cyril  had  hardly  left  the  exhibition-hall, 
when  Prof.  Reeve,  and  the  gentleman  sitting 
with  him,  after  a  short  consultation  together, 
rose,  and  departed  also.  They  followed  Cyril 
and  Tom  ;  so  that,  when  the  latter  turned  back, 
he  met  them  only  a  few  rods  off.  He  hardly 


288  THE  STORY  OF  CYRIL  RIVERS. 

noticed  the  circumstance,  though  ;  for  he  was 
hurrying  to  get  back  before  the  exhibition 
closed.  There  was  a  certain  young  lady  there, 
with  her  mother,  for  whom  he  had  taken  great 
pains  in  securing  the  best  seats  in  the  house, 
and  whom  he  would  not,  for  any  thing  less  than 
his  friendship  for  Cyril,  have  lost  the  pleasure 
of  escorting  home.  Tom's  partiality  for  Miss 
Owens,  his  companions  said,  was  ceasing  to  be 
a  subject  for  jokes.  When  a  fellow  grew  rest- 
less every  night  in  the  week  that  he  could  not 
meet  a  certain  young  lady,  yet  was  held  back, 
by  a  dread  of  intruding,  to  let  long  intervals 
pass  between  his  visits  to  her ;  when,  after  each 
one,  he  grew  strangely  quiet,  gentle,  and  re- 
served ;  when  he  never  spoke  her  name  any 
more  in  careless  intercourse  among  his  com- 
rades ;  when  it  evidently  made  him  tremble  to 
think  he  had  dared  offer  her  an  invitation,  and 
he  feared  the  very  choicest  seat  in  the  house 
was  not  good  enough  for  her,  —  why,  then  the 
matter  was  beginning  to  look  serious.  And 
the  fellows  shook  their  heads  while  they  sagely 
opined  that  it  was  a  sad  thing  for  Torn  to  fall 


THE  EXHIBITION. 


289 


so  much  in  love  in  that  quarter ;  that  such  a 
rough  uncivilized  fellow  as  he  would  only  be 
ruthlessly  scorned  by  one  who  was  the  very 
flower  of  culture  and  refinement. 


19 


290  THE  STORY  OF  CYRIL  RIVERS. 


CHAPTER    XV. 

THE   DOUBLE   LOSS. 

41  He  hath  destroyed  me  on  every  side,  and  I  am  gone ;  and  mine 
hope  hath  He  removed  like  a  tree." 

'YRIL  was  in  his  room,  glad, 
oh !  so  glad,  that  the  evening  was 
over,  and  that  he  might  hurry  home. 
He  had  changed  his  suit  for  other 
clothes,  —  that  hateful  suit,  that  he 
never  wished  to  wear  again.  He  could  not 
take  it  home,  but  would  leave  it  here,  with 
orders,  if  he  did  not  come  back  to  college,  to 
have  it  sold  with  some  other  little  possessions, 
the  value  of  which  might  help  pay  his  debt 
to  the  Sunday  school.  He  was  hastily  packing 
the  rest  of  his  clothing  and  some  of  his  books, 
when  a  knock  upon  his  door  interrupted  him. 
Judge  how  he  was  startled,  when  he  opened 
it,  to  meet  the  two  severe  and  sad  faces,  a 


THE  DOUBLE  LOSS.  291 

passing  glimpse  of  which  had  so  disturbed  him 
as  he  left  the  stage  a  half-hour  since ! 

Cyril  stood  speechless  with  surprise  and 
vague  fear.  He  could  not  summon  enough 
presence  of  mind  to  make  any  respectful  salu- 
tation to  his  professor,  or  to  ask  them  to 
walk  in. 

"  Mr.  Rivers,"  said  the  professor,  "  we  have 
a  few  minutes'  business  with  you." 

Cyril  held  the  door  a  little  wider  open  :  he 
had  not  yet  recovered  the  use  of  his  voice. 

"  This,"  said  the  professor  as  they  entered, 
motioning  toward  the  stranger,  and  fixing  his 
serious  eyes  upon  Cyril's  face,  "is  the  Hon. 
Mr.  Elton  of  Leroy." 

Every  other  fear  had  entered  Cyril's  mind 
as  he  looked  at  his  visitors  ;  but  the  detection 
of  his  essay — for  some  curious  reason,  probably 
because  he  had,  from  the  beginning,  felt  so 
safe  in  the  fraud  —  he  had  forgotten.  At  the 

O 

mention  of  this  name,  then,  he  was  completely 
overwhelmed.  The  entire  suddenness  of  the 
blow  took  from  him  all  power  of  dissimulation. 
He  could  not  hide  his  consternation.  His  face 


292  THE  STORY  OF  CYRIL  RIVERS. 

grew  deadly  white  ;  and  he  staggered,  so  that 
the  stranger,  full  of  pity,  reached  out  a  hand 
to  support  him.  "  Mr.  Rivers,"  he  said  as  he 
drew  him  to  a  chair,  "  I  see  you  know  why  we 
have  come." 

But  Gyril,  still  scarcely  overcoming  the 
faintness  that  had  fallen  upon  him,  with  the 
first  return  of  thought  made  an  instinctive 
effort  to  conceal  his  desperate  shame. 

"I  —  I  do  not,  sir,"  he  answered.  "  Have 
you  a  telegram  from  my  father,  professor  ?  " 

"Your  father,  sir?"  said  the  professor 
angrily,  and  yet  puzzled  by  the  apparent  ear- 
nestness and  good  faith  of  the  question. 

"  He  is  very  sick,"  said  Cyril.  "  He  is 
dying,  they  say.  I  only  heard  to-day.  I  am 
preparing  to  go  to  him.  I  feared,  when  I  saw 
you,  you  might  have  come  to  break  to  me 
worse  news  from  him.  That  was  why  I  was 
so  overcome." 

The  quickness  and  adroitness  of  this  feint 
puzzled  the  professor  still  more,  and  astonished 
Mr.  Elton ;  but  he  was  not  in  the  least 
deceived. 


THE  DOUBLE  LOSS.  293 

"  Young  man,"  he  said,  fixing  his  stern, 
bright  eyes  upon  Cyril,  "  you  are  telling  a 
falsehood.  You  know  why  we  came,  and  why 
you  trembled  to  see  us." 

Cyril  shrank  cowering  under  the  glance. 

"  Mr.  Rivers,"  said  the  professor,  "  we  have 
come  from  the  exhibition-hall,  where  we  list- 
ened to  your  recitation  of  an  essay  which  this 
gentleman  recognized  as  one  written  by  him- 
self twenty  years  ago.  He  proved  the  theft  to 
me  by  anticipating  the  very  words  as  they  came 
from  your  mouth.  I  have  brought  this  charge 
to  you  to  ask  if  there  is  any  thing  you  have  to 
urge  in  its  extenuation." 

"  It  is  a  mistake,  sir,"  said  Cyril,  his  face 
burning  now  with  shame.  "  I  did  find  a 
speech  in  the  library,  following  the  same  train 
of  thought  as  mine,  and  did  quote  a  few  para- 
graphs from  it ;  but  mine  was  almost  finished 
before  I  came  across  Mr.  Elton's,  sir." 

"Where  is  your  manuscript?"  asked  the 
professor.  • 

It  was  near  at  hand :  but  Cyril  could  not 
give  it  up ;  it  was  only  another  proof  of  his 


294  THE  STORY  OF  CYRIL  RIVERS. 

guilt.  He  seemed  hemmed  in  on  every  side. 
In  his  desperation,  his  head  drooped  again ; 
and  conviction  wrote  itself  in  every  line  of  his 
face. 

Then  Mr.  Elton  spoke  to  him  again  more 
kindly,  but  plainly. 

"  Mr.  Rivers,"  he  said,  "  you  hesitate  to 
give  it  up  because  it  will  falsify  your  statement. 
But  there  are  three  —  you  and  I,  and  the  One 
who  knows  all  hearts  —  who  do  not  need  its 
testimony.  To  have  the  condemnation  of  God 
and  your  own  soul,  that  is  the  most  terrible 
thing.  Of  what  consequence  is  it,  since  you 
have  that,  whether  the  reprobation  of  'the 
world  is  added  ?  Why  are  you  so  afraid  of  it, 
and  not  of  continuing  to  deceive  ?  You  must 
have  gone  far  in  the  habit  before  you  could 
come  to  this.  You  surely  want  now  to  turn 
back  :  you  ought  to  find  comfort  in  the  thought 
of  standing  entirely  undisguised  in  the  sight  of 
all  men.  Just  blame  and  just  contempt  ought 
to  be  sweet  to  you,  if,  bowed  down  under 
them,  you  may  once  more  draw  the  breath  of 
an  honest  man.  Don't,  I  beseech  you,  try  to 


THE  DOUBLE  LOSS.  295 

hide  behind  a  barrier  of  lies  any  more :  come 
manfully  and  take  your  punishment,  and  be 
taught  by  it.  Some  time,  yon  will  call  this  a 
fortunate  hour, — this  hour  of  bitter  disgrace. 
I  believe  it  is  the  most  fortunate  hour  you  have 
seen  these  many  years.  I  hope,  that,  in  the 
good  providence  of  God,  it  is  meant  to  save 
you  from  terror  and  despair  in  that  awful  time 
when  the  secrets  of  all  hearts  must  be  re- 
vealed, and  when  many  for  shame  will  call 
upon  the  rocks  to  fall  upon  them  and  hide 
them.  Surely,  surely,  you  would  not,  if  you 
could,  go  on  with  all  this  sin  hidden  and 
unrebuked  till  then." 

Those  were  words  spoke  in  season,  —  words 
that  reached  Cyril's  reason  and  moral  sense, 
and  led  him  out  of  the  confusion  and  darkness 
with  which  his  mind  was  overwhelmed.  He 
was  silent  a  few  moments  :  and  then  he  hastily 
seized  his  manuscript  essay,  that  lay  under 
some  papers  upon  the  table ;  and,  reaching 
from  a  shelf  the  printed  copy  of  Mr.  Elton's 
oration,  he  put  them  into  the  professor's  hand. 

"  Sir,"  he  said  with  white  lips  and  trembling 


296  THE  STORY  OF  CYRIL  RIVERS. 

voice,  "  there  are  the  proofs  of  my  guilt,  if  you 
want  any  other  than  what  you  have  heard.  I 
copied  the  oration  almost  verbatim,  Avith  very 
slight  additions  and  alterations." 

The  professor  took  the  papers ;  and,  his 
indignation  disarmed  by  this  confession,  he 
could  almost  have  shed  tears  for  grief  and 
compassion. 

"  Mr.  Rivers,"  he  said,  "  I  can  not  express 
my  sorrow  and  surprise  at  what  you  have  done. 
It  is  my  duty  to  lay  these  papers  before  the 
faculty  ;  and  probably,  in  simple  justice  to  your 
classmates  and  the  public,  the  story  will  be 
made  known  to  them  also.  But  you  have 
heretofore  borne  a  good  character,  and  you 
have  many  friends  here.  Is  there  nothing  I 
can  state  to  extenuate  your  deed  ?  Was  there 
any  extraordinary  temptation  which  should  be 
mentioned  with  the  sin  ?  " 

"  No,"  answered  Cyril,  much  agitated,  — 
"  nothing  that  furnished  me  the  shadow  of  an 
excuse.  I  could  not  write  as  easily  as  usual ; 
and  then  this  pamphlet  came  in  my  way,  and  I 
used  it  without  a  scruple.  That  was  all." 


THE  DOUBLE  LOSS.  297 

There  was  a  sorrowful  silence  in  the  room. 
The  professor  at  last  rose  to  go.  "  We  will  not 
keep  you  from  going  to  your  father,"  he  said. 
"  The  action  of  the  faculty  in  this  matter  will 
be  communicated  to  you." 

But  the  stranger  extended  his  hand  to  Cyril 
as  he  went.  "  Our  first  meeting,"  he  said, 
"  has  been  a  painful  one  ;  but  surely,  by  God's 
blessing,  I  shall  find  when  I  meet  you  again, 
whether  in  this  world  or  the  next,  that  its 
result  has  been  joyful.  Only  turn  to  your 
Father  in  repentance,  and  ask  him  to  make  it 
so.  That  will  save  you  so  much  suffering !  " 

They  left  Cyril  too  much  overcome  by  the 
suddenness  of  the  blow  to  realize  all  that  had 
occurred.  He  felt  no  such  acute  mortification 
as  might  have  been  expected ;  for  he  seemed 
half  stunned.  He  could  think  only  vaguely :  a 
sense  of  unreality  dulled  his  emotions.  He 
understood  that  all  was  gone  now  that  he  had 
enjoyed  and  hoped  and  acted  for  here  at 
college  ;  but  he  seemed  to  find  himself  resigned 
to  that,  as  one  wearied  out  in  struggling  is  glad 
to  be  forced  to  sink  down  when  strength  fails. 


298  THE  STORY  OF  CYRIL  RIVERS. 

He  kept  whispering  to  himself,  with  a  levity 
that  was  almost  like  that  by  which  an  insane 
person  will  show  his  uneasy  misery,  "  It  is  all 
over  with  me !  ah,  well,  it  is  all  over  with 
me!" 

He  felt  only  anxious  to  get  away.  He 
hurried  his  things  into  his  portmanteau,  and 
hastened  off  as  if  for  his  life,  haunted  by  the 
feeling  that  he  fled  to  hide  himself  from  a  storm 
of  reprobation  that  followed  fast  after  him. 

He  hurried  down  to  the  dark  depQt,  confused 
and  dreary,  and  it  seemed  ominous  of  such 
places  as  all  the  rest  of  his  clouded  existence 
must  be  spent  in.  He  even  likened  the  dark- 
ness and  the  smoke  and  din,  and  the  hard- 
faced,  hurrying,  selfish  men  that  pushed  by 
him,  to  the  atmosphere  and  the  companions  he 
might  find  in  that  awful  world  for  which  he 
thought  he  had  been  deliberately  trying  to 
make  his  character  fit. 

As  he  entered  the  train,  two  of  his  class- 
mates, going  the  same  road  for  a  distance, 
hailed  him,  delighted  at  the  prospect  of  his 
companionship  ;  but  he  shrank  away  from  them 


THE  DOUBLE  LOSS.  299 

as  though  they  and  he  could  by  no  means  come 
together  as  companions  any  more.  He  could 
not  realize  that  they  had  not  yet  learned  all, 
he  seemed  to  himself  so  thoroughly  exposed  and 
condemned.  He  passed  to  a  remote  corner  of 
the  train  without  answering  them  a  word. 

As  the  train  rushed  on  through  the  night, 
Cyril's  mind  ran  faster  among  gloomy  thoughts. 
A  feeling  of  the  strangeness  of  his  situation 
impressed  him.  How  wonderfully  soon  he  had 
become  accustomed  to  disgrace  !  He  seemed 
to  have  borne  it  all  his  life  instead  of  a  few 
short  hours.  And  yet  how  new  the  story 
would  be  to  others  !  —  to  Tom,  to  the  class- 
mates who  had  so  lately  called  him  an  honor  to 
their  number,  to  Miss  Kerlie,  and  all  the  gay 
friends  who  had  smiled  admiration  upon  him 
only  this  evening.  It  seemed  impossible  that 
he  could  be  the  same  brilliant  and  favored 
Cyril  Rivers  they  had  known,  —  he  who 
seemed  now  to  be  old  in  wretchedness,  to  have 
lived  long  ashamed  and  confounded,  to  have 
borne  always  a  name  that  was  a  by-word  and 
a  reproach.  And  yet  the  change  had  befallen 
only  a  few  short  hours  ago. 


300  THE  STORY  OF  CYRIL  RIVERS. 

And  then  the  stranger  had  called  it  "  a  for- 
tunate hour  "  that  took  him  from  that  brilliant 
life  to  this.  How  strange  that  was  !  Cyril 
had  seemed  to  believe  the  word  when  it  was 
spoken.  How  could  that  have  been  ?  If  he 
could  only  understand  the  thought  again ! 
"  A  fortunate  hour  "  !  How  the  words  puzzled 
him !  He  had  had  ingenuity  enough  once  to 
understand  paradoxes ;  but  this  seemed  to 
escape  his  comprehension,  he  was  now  so  dull 
and  bewildered. 

And  then  he  fell  to  wondering  if,  with  his 
old  reputation,  his  old  power  had  gone  too,  — 
the  intellect  he  once  possessed  ;  if  he  was  to  be 
always  the  confused,  cowed  creature  he  was 
now,  and  should  never  again  be  able  to  find 
either  talent  or  acquirement  to  help  him  climb 
back  to  rank  with  other  men.  How  strange 

O 

and  how  ominous  was  that  loss  of  ability  which 
had  tempted  him  to  copy  Mr.  Elton's  speech ! 
The  thought  of  it  now  filled  him  with  despair. 
He  remembered,  when  he  read  that  fatal  essay, 
he  had  called  himself  the  equal  in  intellect  of 
its  writer.  Ah,  what  a  vain  boast  it  was  !  He 


THE  DOUBLE  LOSS.  301 

knew  better  now.  Cyril  Rivers,  this  poor  fool 
taken  in  his  own  folly,  could  never  be  a  man 
like  that,  —  never,  never !  —  a  man  so  noble 
and  successful ;  a  man  whose  riches  of  wisdom, 
and  fullness  of  life,  overflowed  in  gifts  of  bless- 
ing wherever  he  went. 

Yet  this  man  had  not  looked  upon  Cyril  with 
utter  scorn :  he  had  spoken  kindly  and  hope- 
fully, and  he  had  called  that  "  a  fortunate 
hour."  Ah  !  Cyril  thought  if  he  could  only 
catch  the  clew  to  the  meaning  of  those  words  ! 

With  such  vague,  wandering  thoughts,  Cyril 
struggled  through  the  three  hours  of  his  night- 
journey  ;  rousing  himself,  as  if  waking  from  a 
dull  nightmare,  when  the  train  reached  the 
station.  The  walk  through  the  town  to  his 
house  still  further  dispelled  the  bewilderment 
into  which  he  had  fallen :  and,  as  he  neared 
home,  he  forgot  the  new  aspect  life  wore  to 
him ;  forgot  the  new  character  he  bore  in  the 
world,  to  whose  strangeness  he  was  trying  to 
submit  himself;  and  remembered  nothing  but 
his  father's  state.  A  torturing  anxiety  urged 
on  his  steps. 


302  THE  STORY  OF  CYRIL  RIVERS. 

Dark  as  it  still  was,  he  saw  the  door  open  as 
lie  drew  near  the  house,  as  though  anxious  eyes 
had  been  watching  for  him.  His  sister  came 
down  to  the  gate  to  meet  him.  "  O  Cyril !  " 
she  said,  "  we  are  so  glad  you've  come  !  We 
wanted  to  send  for  you  before  ;  but  he  would 
not  let  us,  though  we  feared  he  might  not  live 
to  see  you.  O  Cyril!  he  is  dying! — father  is 
dying!" 

Her  cry  had  a  pleading  tone,  as  though  she 
begged  for  her  brother's  help  in  a  trouble  so 
awful ;  but  he  could  not  answer  her  even  by 
taking  her  hand  in  his  own. 

He  followed  her  into  the  house.  Some  of 
his  father's  parishioners  were  there,  talking 
together  hi  low  tones,  anxious  to  be  of  service 
to  the  family  of  their  beloved  minister.  One 
and  another  reached  out  a  hand  of  sympathy  to 
Cyril  as  he  passed  among  them  ;  and  they  were 
full  of  compassion  when  they  saw  his  altered 
looks.  Alas !  that  kind  feeling  toward  the 
young  man  was  changed  to  indignation  by  the 
close  of  another  day. 

Cyril  was  led  directly  to  the  chamber  of  the 


THE  DOUBLE  LOSS.  303 

dying  man.  There  lay  the  father  who  had 
labored  his  life  away  for  his  children  ;  whose 
faithful  love  had  never  failed  to  find  a  way  to 
grant  his  son  every  reasonable  wish,  every 
needful  good  ;  who  had  loved  him  too  much, 
perhaps,  —  set  his  hopes  too  fondly  upon  the 
boy's  promise  and  success. 

It  appeared  that  he  would  not  live  to  see 
those  hopes  cast  down.  His  eye  was  dim,  and 
his  face  sunken  ;  yet  it  brightened  when  he 
turned  it  toward  his  son's :  and  his  wasted 
hands  had  yet  strength  to  move  themselves  to 
meet  Cyril's  grasp.  "  My  son,  my  dear  son  !  " 
he  cried  fondly. 

And,  at  those  words,  a  flood  of  love  and  sor- 
row swelled  in  Cyril's  soul,  and  swept  away  its 
darkness  and  confusion.  He  saw  the  truth 
concerning  his  sin.  He  forgot  the  hush  in  the 
chamber  of  death,  —  every  thing  but  the  long- 
ing for  forgiveness  before  his  father  should  go 
hence  to  return  never  more.  He  fell  upon  his 
knees  by  the  bedside,  crying  in  anguish,  "  O 
father !  I  can  not  be  called  your  son :  I  am 
not  worthy.  I  have  sinned  against  you.  O 
father,  father ! " 


304  THE  STOEY  OF  CYRIL  RIVERS. 

The  cry  ended  in  terrible  weeping  ;  so  vio- 
lent, that,  in  alarm  for  the  dying  man,  Cyril's 
mother  tried  to  lead  him  away.  But  his  father 
motioned  her  back.  The  peace  in  which  he 
had  put  off  all  cares,  and  had  lain  waiting  for 
death  during  these  last  few  hours,  was  not  to 
be  broken.  He  was  too  far  withdrawn  from 
the  world  for  any  of  its  agitations  to  shake  him 
now.  But  his  fatherly  love  was  still  unfailing. 
He  roused  himself  from  the  lethargy  of  death 
once  more,  to  offer  help  in  his  child's  need. 

"  What  is  it,  my  child  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  O  father !  it  is  too  late  to  tell  it  all  now ; 
but  I  have  done  so  wrong !  " 

"  But  there's  the  atonement,  my  child. 
Whatever  you  have  done,  there  is  the  atone- 
ment. I  am  thinking  of  that."  And  then  his 
voice  sank  to  a  whisper,  and  he  seemed  talking 
to  himself.  "  He  will  suffer,"  he  said :  "  we 
must  all  suffer  when  we  have  sinned.  But  that 
is  nothing  if  we  are  saved  from  the  sin  at  last, 
—  nothing,  nothing.  When  we  have  washed 
our  robes,  and  made  them  white  in  the  blood 
of  the  Lamb,  we  shall  come  out  of  great  trib- 
ulation into  perfect  peace." 


THE  DOUBLE  LOSS.  305 

He  fell  into  insensibility ;  while  Cyril,  re- 
pressing his  sobs,  fixed  his  gaze  upon  his  father's 
face,  and  held  his  hand,  as  if  comfort  and  wis- 
dom were  dying  with  him.  The  morning  had 
hardly  dawned  when  the  good  man  passed 
away.  In  the  same  night,  Cyril  was  bereft  of 
his  good  name  and  made  fatherless. 


306  THE  STORY  OF  CYRIL  RIVERS. 


CHAPTER    XVI. 

THE   FALLEN   TREE. 

"  Upright  men  shall  be  astonished  at  this,  and  the  innocent  shall 
etir  up  himself  against  the  hypocrite." 

'HERE  was  wonder  and  regret 
throughout  Eaton  that  day.  At 
every  breakfast-table,  the  first  reader 
of  the  morning  paper  broke  his  silent 
perusal  with  an  exclamation  of  sur- 
prise, and  startled  the  whole  family  with  the 
news  one  short,  grave  paragraph  contained. 
You  guess  what  that  news  was.  A  consulta- 
tion among  the  various  members  of  the  faculty 
at  the  close  of  the  exhibition  had  resulted  in 
sending  to  the  office  of  the  morning  journal 
this  statement,  signed  by  the  president :  — 

"  It  is  my  duty  to  inform  the  public  that  the 
essay  spoken  by  Cyril  E.  Rivers  at  the  junior 
exhibition,  this  evening,  was  not  his  own. 


THE  FALLEN  TREE.  307 

"With  the  exception  of  some  trifling  additions 
and  alterations,  it  was  stolen  by  Mr.  Rivers 
from  the  printed  copy  of  an  oration  spoken  by 
Mr.  Edward  Elton,  during  his  senior  year  in 
college,  twenty  years  ago.  The  speech  was  at 
once  recognized  by  him,  and  the  fraud  has  since 
been  confessed.  Since  it  was  committed  upon 
the  public,  it  is  our  painful  duty  to  make  the 
discovery  public  also." 

Imagine  how  this  story  came  to  Cyril's  many 
friends.  There  was  no  refusing  to  believe  it, 
since  it  came  over  the  .president's  honored  name. 
Miss  Kerlie  and  all  the  gay  companions  of 
many  happy  hours  read  it,  and  were  exceed- 
ingly shocked  and  grieved.  The  superintend- 
ent and  teachers  of  the  Sunday  school  read  it 
with  the  utmost  consternation.  When  they 
met,  they  looked  at  each  other  in  a  kind  of 
terror,  and  spoke  of  what  had  happened  in  a 
low,  frightened  tone.  Who  could  tell  the  mis- 
chief, they  thought,  if  the  scholars  who  had 
trusted  and  loved  Cyril  so  much  should  learn 
the  story  •?  They  were  old  enough  to  read  the 
daily  news :  it  could  scarcely  help  coming  to 


308  THE  STORY  OF  CYRIL  RIVERS. 

their  knowledge.  Who,  again,  could  make 
them  believe  that  truth  and  goodness  really 
existed,  when  they  had  been  once  so  deceived  ? 
In  Cyril's  class,  the  story,  as  it  became  known, 
produced  a  profound  sensation.  A  portion  of 
his  disgrace  seemed  to  rest  upon  all.  Well 
might  it  be  so  with  some  who  had  laughed  with 
him  over  lesser  frauds.  It  was  right  that  they 
should  suffer  in  his  punishment.  But  ashamed 
and  grieved  as  they  were,  strange  to  say,  even 
among  those  best  acquainted  with  Cyril's  char- 
acter and  ways,  the  general  expression  was  of 
wonder.  "  How  could  he  do  it  ?  "  was  the 
constantly-repeated  exclamation.  "  How  dared 
he  do  a  thing  so  bold,  to  take  such  a  risk  for  so 
small  a  gain,  and  when  he  must  have  foreseen 
how  fatal  would  be  the  consequences  in  case  of 
discovery?  How  could  he  have  been  so  un- 
wise ?  "  Those  who  were  best  acquainted  with 
what  had  gone  before  could  not  understand  the 
riddle  of  his  folly.  They  could  not  connect 
consequences  with  causes,  and  see  that  petty 
deceiving,  though  sanctioned  by  general  usage, 
nevertheless  had  destroyed  the  moral  sense  of 


THE  FALLEN  TREE.  309 

one  who  practiced  it,  till  he  had  fallen  into 
greater  sin,  and  greater  risk  of  punishment  and 
disgrace,  without  knowing  his  position.  Vanity 
is  never  wise  nor  scrupulous.  There  is  no 
need  to  search  for  weighty  and  desperate  mo- 
tives for  the  rash  deeds  of  one  leading  a  life  away 
from  God.  A  little  temptation  will  draw  such 
a  one  into  great  and  dangerous  sin,  while  his 
eyes  seem  hlinded  to  its  greatness  and  its  dan- 
ger. 

But,  where  all  were  sorrow-stricken,  there 
was  one  who  seemed  well-nigh  heart-broken 
over.  Cyril's  downfall.  It  was  Tom  Radclon, 
who  all  that  day  sat  in  his  room  in  grief  that 
refused  to  be  comforted.  He  had,  of  late, 
learned  so  much  of  Cyril,  that  he  could  not 
feel  the  surprise  that  others  expressed  ;  but,  in 
deep  dejection,  he  groaned  aloud  for  sorrow 
and  remorse.  Sometimes  he  would  insanely 
defend  Cyril,  vowing  the  whole  thing  to  have 
no  more  foundation  than  in  the  suspicions  of 
the  malicious  professors;  sometimes  he  would 
desperately  try  to  whiten  his  sin,  alleging  that 
many  others  had  done  things  as  bad,  and  no 


310  THE  STORY  OF  CYRIL  RIVERS. 

outcry  been  made ;  or  showing  how  Cyril  had 
been  distracted  by  troubles  ;  bringing  to  excuse 
him  the  very  argument  Cyril  had  used  for 
himself.  Then  he  would  begin  upbraiding  him- 
self for  having  urged  his  friend  into  wrong 
practices ;  for  having  been  selfish,  never  help- 
ful and  kind,  careful  to  try  and  keep  his  friend 
out  of  trouble,  —  a  self-reproach  that  those 
who  heard  it,  and  who  knew  the  character  and 
the  former  relations  of  the  two,  were  amazed 
to  think  that  it  should  ever  have  suggested 
itself  to  Tom's  mind.  But  though  he  had,  at 
first,  looked  up  to  Cyril,  and  depended  much 
upon  him,  of  late  they  seemed  to  have  changed 
places  somewhat.  Cyril  had  been  downcast 
and  dejected,  and  had  teen  forced  to  ask  for 
the  help  that  Tom  could  give  ;  while  he  had 
been  trying  to  learn  to  depend  upon  himself, 
when  Cyril  used  to  assist  him.  And,  no  mat- 
ter how  grateful  a  man's  disposition  may  be, 
he  can  not  love  those  from  whom  he  receives 
as  tenderly  as  those  to  whom  he  gives.  Tom 
was  grieved  for  Cyril  as  an  older  brother 
would  have  been  ;  and  his  grief  revealed  to 


THE  FALLEN  TREE.  311 

him  his  share  of  the  responsibility  of  Cyril's 
sin.  The  shock,  too,  with  which  he  heard  told 
of  another  the  same  thing  which  he  had  him- 
self done,  opened  to  him  a  new  view  of  his  own 
wickedness  and  unworthiness  before  God  and 
man.  He  was  as  angry  with  himself  as  grieved 
for  Cyril.  He  declared  that  he  ought  to 
stand  in  Cyril's  place,  bear  the  same  punish- 
ment, the  same  reproaches,  the  same  disgrace. 
But  in  all  such  talk  there  was  no  comfort,  only 
the  more  grief.  He  could  not  throw  off  the 
discontent  and  remorse  that  possessed  him. 
He  paced  up  and  down,  groaning  at  the  bitter- 
ness of  the  thoughts  in  his  mind,  and  finding 
no  relief  anywhere. 

But  what  he  suffered  to-day  for  Cyril  was 
to  be  augmented  to-morrow.  This  morning's 
sensation  was  not  the  only  one  the  name  and 
conduct  of  Cyril  Rivers  was  to  make  in  Eaton. 

Among  the  readers  who  saw  that  fatal 
paragraph  in  the  morning  paper  was  the  melo- 
deon  manufacturer.  He  read  it  with  some 
little  curiosity  at  first,  but  without  any  emotion. 
It  did  not  surprise  him ;  for  he  regarded 


312  THE  STORY  OF  CYRIL  RIVERS. 

students  generally  with  disgust.  He  considered 
them  as  some  species  of  imperfectly-tamed  wild 
beast,  brought  to  mind  occasionally  as  a  mis- 
chievous nuisance,  when  there  was  a  riot  of 
their  making  in  the  streets,  or  he  heard  some 
story  of  gas-lamps  broken,  and  gates  carried 
off  in  their  wanton  sport.  This  account  of 
Cyril's  fraud  matched  very  well  with  what  he 
was  always  hearing  of  them.  That  was  his 
only  mental  comment,  until  he  looked  once 
more  at  the  name,  perhaps  with  some  cautious 
idea  of  storing  it  away  in  his  remembrance. 

It  had  a  curiously  familiar  sound.  "  Cyril 
Rivers,"  he  read.  "  Where  have  I  heard  that 
name  before  ?  It  can't  be  that  I've  got  that 
name  on  my  books.  Now  I  think  of  it,  who 
was  it  bought  that  melodeon  for  the  Bethel 
Sunday  School  ?  He  certainly  gave  a  name 
something  like  that ;  but,  of  course,  it  can  not 
be  the  same.  Such  men  are  not  generally 
connected  with  Sunday  schools." 

But  Mr.  Harmoner  got  straight  up  from  his 
breakfast-table,  and  went  to  the  shop  to  turn 
over  his  books  in  search  of  that  name.  He 


THE   MELODEOX   MERCHANT. 


THE  FALLEN  TREE.  313 

came  upon  it  with  a  feeling  of  indignation  and 
fear.  There  it  stood,  just  as  in  the  paper,  — 
Cyril  E.  Rivers ;  and  the  address  that  followed 
made  it  certain  that  it  was  the  name  of  a 
student. 

"  Now,"  Mr.  Harmoner  anxiously  thought, 
"  I'll  be  bound,  there's  an  imposition  here. 
The  Sunday  school!  A  likely  story  they'd 
send  a  man  like  that  to  do  their  business  for 
'em.  At  any  rate,  with  only  that  name  for 
security,  I've  got  no  security  at  all.  Here's 
something  I  must  look  into  this  very  morning." 

As  speedily  as  possible,  he  wrote  out  his  bill, 
and  proceeded  in  search  of  his  suspicious 
debtor.  His  alarm  began  to  grow  serious 
when  Cyril's  landlady  informed  him  that  her 
boarder  had  left  for  home  the  evening  before. 

Mr.  Harmoner  at  once  proceeded  in  search 
of  the  superintendent,  Mr.  Keep. 

Mr.  Keep  was  sorrowfully  thinking  of  Cyril ; 
thinking,  now  that  the  blind  leader  had  fallen 
into  the  ditch,  what  he  should  do  for  the  follow- 
ers ;  how  he  should  repair  the  injury  to  those 
poor,  ignorant,  sorely-tempted  lads,  who  had 


314  THE  STORY  OF  CYRIL  RIVERS. 

begun  to  believe  in  right,  because  one  they 
loved  and  trusted  seemed  to  believe.  Perhaps 
the  story  might  not  reach  them  ;  but,  if  it  did, 
how  could  it  be  set  before  them  as  subject  for 
sorrow  and  warning,  instead  of  an  incitement 
to  unbelief  and  scoffing  ?  While  he  was  think- 
ing of  these  things,  Mr.  Harmoner  came  in 
search  of  him. 

"  I  believe,  sir,"  he  said,  as  Mr.  Keep  asked 
him  to  be  seated,  "  that  you  are  the  superin- 
tendent of  the  Bethel-mission  School." 

"  Yes,  sir,"  said  Mr.  Keep. 

"  Was  there  a  Mr.  Rivers  connected  with 
your  school,  whose  name  I  see  in  the  paper 
to-day  as  that  of  a  dishonest  man  ?  " 

"  There  was,"  said  Mr.  Keep.  "  We  were, 
among  others,  deceived  by  his  apparently  fair 
character." 

"  Well,  sir,"  said  Mr.  Harmoner,  "perhaps 
I  need  not  have  been  troubled ;  but,  you  see, 
he  purchased  a  melodeon  from  our  place  for 
the  school,  and  I've  only  his  name  for  security. 
I  thought,  after  what  I  learned  about  him 
to-day,  that  I  would  just  like  to  speak  with 


THE  FALLEN  TREE.  315 

some  of  the  rest  of  you  about  the  bill.  Not 
that  I  feel  at  all  uneasy  at  having  trusted  the 
school ;  but  I  should  like  to  feel  that  the 
responsibility  was  not  entirely  his." 

Imagine  Mr.  Keep's  sorrow  as  he  gathered 
the  meaning  of  this  !  "  Sir,"  he  said,  "  do 
you  mean  to  say  that  Mr.  Rivers  did  not  pay 
you  for  that  melodeon  ?  " 

"  He  did  not,"  said  the  merchant.  "  He  said 
the  school  had  some  little  difficulty  in  raising 
the  money ;  but  that  three  or  four  weeks 
would  enable  them  to  make  payment.  I  had,  . 
of  course,  no  distrust  in  letting  him  have  the 
instrument." 

"  But  the  money  was  in  his  hands,"  said  Mr. 
Keep.  "  It  is  a  rule  of  ours  never  to  go  in 
debt  for  any  such  extra  expense." 

"  Then,"  said  the  merchant  angrily,  "  the 
scamp  has  stolen  it !  I  never  saw  a  penny  of 
it." 

Mr.  Keep,  dismayed  at  this  new  develop- 
ment, tried  to  allay  the  merchant's  alarm  for 
his  debt  by  promising  to  bring  the  matter 
before  the  other  officers  of  the  school,  and 


316  THE  STORY  OF  CYRIL  RIVERS. 

either  to  have  the  instrument  returned,  or  the 
money  raised  to  pay  for  it  the  second  time. 
The  school,  he  thought,  would  have  to  be 
responsible  for  the-  fraud  of  its  officer ;  and  that 
it  should  hold  property  unpaid  for  was  contrary 
to  one  of  the  main  articles  of  its  constitution. 

He  earnestly  begged  the  man  not  to  let  the 
matter  become  public ;  but  his  injunctions 
were  little  regarded.  Cyril  Rivers  was  noth- 
ing to  Mr.  Harmoner ;  and  he  was  indignant, 
and,  besides,  had  the  important  feeling  of  pos- 
sessing a  new  development  to  relate  of  the 
story  which  was  the  topic  of  the  day  through- 
out the  town.  He  did  not  anticipate  that 
there  could  be  any  harm  in  telling,  in  a  confi- 
dential way,  that  which  occupied  his  mind,  to 
the  next  friend  he  met  upon  the  street.  It 
was  eagerly  listened  to,  and  quickly  repeated. 
Alas !  how  strange  is  the  interest  with  which 
a  story  of  weakness  and  sin  is  heard  and 
started!  —  not  the  sorrowful  and  sympathetic 
interest,  but  the  curious,  the  amused,  the 
scoffing  interest.  How  rarely  found,  even 
among  Christians,  is  the  man  who  will  refrain 


THE  FALLEN  TREE.  317 

from  taking  up  a  reproach  against  bis  neigh- 
bor! 

The  story  had  not  gone  through  three  nar- 
rations before  it  came  as  a  rich  prize  into  the 
hands  of  the  item  gatherer  for  the  local  paper, 
and  was  by  him  rapidly  put  into  shape  for  the 
public  edification. 

The  next  morning  journal  contained,  there- 
fore, a  conspicuous  paragraph,  headed,  "  Further 
Developments :  the  student  Cyril  E.  Rivers  a 
swindler  as  well  as  a  plagiarist."  And  then 
was  narrated,  with  many  a  moral  comment  and 
sage  reflection,  Cyril's  apparently  cool  theft  from 
the  Sunday  school,  of  course  without  any  of 
those  palliations  of  the  sin,  if  charity  may  call 
them  palliations,  of  which  I  have  told  you.  The 
nine-days'  wonder  had  developed  a  new  phase, 
and  taken  a  new  lease  of  life ;  and,  if  there  is 
always  a  satisfaction  in  the  discovery  of  delin- 
quency, how  much  more  when  it  is  delinquency 
in  high  places,  in  the  church  and  Sunday 
school,  in  the  most  refined  social  circle,' in  a 
minister's  son,  or  a  professor's  promising  pro- 
tege !  Even  in  hearts  naturally  benevolent, 


318  THE  STORY  OF  CYRIL  RIVERS. 

how  fast  the  first  feeling  of  pain  and  surprise 
excited  by  such  a  story  will  wear  off  in  the 
satisfaction  of  abundant  food  for  gossip ! 

But  we  quickly  become  used  to  new  events. 
Before  the  close  of  that  day  even,  most  of 
those  who  knew  Cyril  had  become  accustomed 
to  his  downfall.  It  was  to  them  almost  like 
a  fact  expected.  The  shadow  that  had  fallen 
upon  him  seemed  to  stretch  backward  over 
all  the  years  of  their  acquaintance  with  him  ; 
so  that  they  seemed  never  to  have  known  him 
as  any  thing  but  weak,  vain,  and  deceitful. 
The  tree  once  down,  we  soon  become  accus- 
tomed to  contemplate  it  as  fallen,  —  fit  only  to 
be  removed  for  the  burning.  We  soon  forget 
to  compare  it  sorrowfully  with  the  one  that 
lately  towered  upright  in  the  sunshine,  the- 
glory  of  the  garden.  We  walk  about  it  as  it 
lies  prone,  and  examine  the  hidden  decay  that 
has  laid  it  low ;  mark  how  rudely  its  roots 
have  been  broken  from  their  hold,  and  have 
torn  up  the  earth  that  nourished  them ;  notice 
the  strength  of  the  great  limbs  that  are  crushed 
and  broken  ;  and  coolly  watch  the  fresh  green 


THE  FALLEN  TREE.  319 

leaves  of  youth  and  spring-time  that  were  so 
beautiful  high  in  the  sunshine,  withering  away 
in  the  dust.  It  is  a  pity  that  the  tree  fell ; 
but,  since  we  can  not  set  it  up  again  for  admi- 
ration, take  it  away,  and  let  us  seek  another  to 
put  in  its  place.  The  shock  is  over  now,  and 
there  is  neither  time  nor  thought  to  spare  in 
long  regrets. 

All  who  really  loved  Cyril  were  doubly 
wounded  by  this  second  story,  so  unnecessarily 
made  public.  The  superintendent  would  have 
given  worlds  if  he  could  have  kept  the  matter 
hushed,  for  Cyril's  sake  as  well  as  the  school's. 
Wherever  he  went,  he  was  overwhelmed  with 
questions  as  to  the  truth.  His  regret  and  mor- 
tification were  unspeakable. 

As  for  Tom,  I  must  begin  another  chapter 
to  tell  you  about  him. 


320     THE  STORY  OF  CYRIL  RIVERS. 


CHAPTER  XVII. 

TOM'S    GRIEF    AND    HIS    COMFORT. 

"So  Jonathan  arose,  in  fierce  auger;  for  he  was  grieved  for 
David." 

"  But  God  is  the  judge :  he  putteth  down  one  and  setteth 
up  another." 

"  Hold  thou  me  up,  and  I  shall  he  safe." 

TOLD  you  how  Tom  spent  the  day 
in  his  room,  groaning  with  alternate 
sorrow  and  remorse ;  as  restless  in 
this  trouble,  which  no  outlay  of 
money  could  smooth  away,  as  a 
wounded  lion. 

But  when,  the  next  morning,  this  second 
part  of  the  story  came  to  his  ears,  he  aston- 
ished his  companions  with  a  show  of  anger  and 
distress  for  which  they  could  not,  for  some 
time,  discover  any  sufficient  cause.  He 
stormed  at  the  Sunday-school  managers  and 
the  melodeon  merchant,  calling  them  liars  and 


TOM'S  GRIEF  AND  HIS  COMFORT.       321 

defamers ;  asserting  that  there  was  not  one 
word  of  truth  in  the  story,  and  that  he  had 
authority  for  declaring  it.  Then  he  railed  at 
himself,  crying  with  angry  tones  that  he  had 
been  a  careless,  ungrateful  friend,  fit  to  have 
no  man's  honor  trusted  to  his  care  again ; 
cursing  himself  for  his  forgetfulness ;  saying, 
that  he  might  have  foreseen  all  this  yesterday, 
and  that,  if  he  had  only  had  a  little  sense,  he 
might  have  saved  it  all  to  his  poor  friend. 

His  companions,  utterly  confounded  at  his 
almost  tragic  grief,  began  to  understand,  at 
last,  that  Cyril  must  have  left  the  debt  that 
never  should  have  been  incurred,  in  Tom's 
care ;  for  he  vowed  that  he  would  make  it 
right  now  at  any  rate,  and  that  somebody 
should  pay  for  this  wanton  defamation  of 
Cyril's  character.  "Because  a  fellow  had 
copied  part  of  his  essay  from  an  old  musty 
paper,"  thus  raved  Tom,  "  need  he  be  charged 
with  every  other  crime  in  the  decalogue 
also?" 

With  that,  he  seized  his  hat,  declaring  that 

he  would  go  and  call  John   Seelye  to  account. 
21 


322  THE  STORY  OF  CTR1L  RIVERS. 

"  He  belonged  to  the  Sunday  school,  and  he 
had  taken  Cyril  over  there,"  Tom  said  ;  "  and 
if  he  had  had  the  least  friendly  feeling,  he 
would  have  prevented  this  story  from  getting 
abroad." 

Tom  strode  away  with  a  fierce  scowl  upon 
his  brow,  but  with  his  head  hanging,  and  eyes 
downcast,  —  a  man  thoroughly  mortified,  and 
though  defiant,  yet  ashamed  to  meet  the  world, 
before  which  he,  quite  as  much  as  Cyril, 
seemed  to  have  been  publicly  disgraced. 

But  the  walk  in  the  open  air  quieted  his 
excitement ;  and  he  soon  began  to  view  things 
more  sanely.  He  did  not,  as  his  friends  had 
feared  he  would,  break  in  upon  John  Seelye 
with  violent  invective  and  reproach,  but  ap- 
peared at  the  door  of  his  room  in  a  humble  and 
reasonable  mood. 

Finding  that  John  knew  no  more  than  he 
how  the  story  had  become  public,  he  was  still 
further  mollified.  He  explained  to  John  what 
he  knew  of  the  transaction  ;  how  Cyril  had 
told  him,  that,  pressed  by  debt,  he  had 
taken  the  Sunday-school  money,  hoping  indefi- 


TOM'S  GRIEF  AND  HIS  COMFORT.       323 

nitely  to  find  some  way  out  of  the  trouble 
before  the  merchant  should  urge  his  obligation  ; 
and  how,  when  Cyril  was  obliged  to  go  away, 
he  had  intrusted  the  whole  matter  to  his, 
Tom's,  friendship.  And  then  Tom  added, 
with  many  self-reproaches,  that,  when  he 
might  have  reflected  yesterday  morning  that 
one  story  would  quickly  start  the  other,  he  had 
taken  no  measure  to  prevent  it,  as  he  should 

• 

have  done. 

But  now  Tom  was  going  to  pay  the  debt  at 
any  risk  or  inconvenience ;  and  he  wanted  it 
made  known  as  publicly  as  the  fraud  had  been, 
that  Cyril  did  not  appropriate  the  money  with 
any  intention  to  cheat.  Almost  his  last  care 
had  been  to  secure  its  payment ;  and  his 
trouble  about  it  had  been  one  cause,  no  doubt, 
of  his  failure  to  write  his  essay. 

As  Tom  told  this  story,  he  saw  that  John 
readily  comprehended  it,  and  seized  as  eagerly 
upon  what  small  excuse  there  was  in  it  for 
Cyril  as  did  Tom  himself.  He  found  this 
man,  so  strict  in  his  zeal  for  honesty,  not,  as  he 
had  fancied,  full  of  severity  for  Cyril,  and 


324  THE  STORY  OF  CYRIL  RIVERS. 

rrarly  to  deepen  his  disgrace,  but  as  much 
grieved  for  him  as  was  Tom's  own  heart ;  per- 
haps even  more  deeply  grieved,  because  John 
was  better  able  to  estimate  the  calamity  of  the 
loss  of  principle  and  reputation.  He  showed  a 
heart  full  of  sympathy  both  for  Cyril  and  for 
Tom  ;  a  heart  that  Tom  perceived  might  be 
relied  on  for  counsel  and  kindness  in  this  the 
sorest  trouble  of  his  life. 

John  went  with  him  to  the  superintendent 
to  repeat  the  story,  and  to  secure  that  it 
should  be  published  as  an  explanation  by  Mr. 
Keep,  in  such  form  as  should  be  most  just  to 
Cyril ;  the  statement  being  added,  that  his 
debt  to  the  school  was  already  discharged : 
for  Tom  was  determined  to  pay  for  the  melo- 
deon  that  very  day,  if,  as  he  said,  he  sold  all 
his  furniture  and  wardrobe.  No  doubt,  he 
could  have  raised  the  money  in  some  other 
way ;  but  he  did  not  want  the  debt  put  off 
with  borrowed  means  any  more :  and  there 
was  a  sort  of  satisfaction  to  him  in  stripping 
his  room  of  some  of  its  superfluities  for  Cyril's 
sake,  —  of  the  costly  clock  that  adorned  the 


TOM'S  GRIEF  AND  HIS  COMFORT.       325 

mantel-piece,  the  patent  study-chair  he  never 
used,  and  the  heavily-framed  pictures,  of  ques- 
tionable taste,  that,  he  said,  were  so  tiresome, 
always  staring  at  him.  But  when  he  had  dis- 
posed of  them,  and  paid  over  the  money,  with 
severe  reproaches,  to  th£  merchant,  for  the  need- 
less harm  he  had  done,  and  when  he  had  carried 
with  his  own  hands  to  the  newspaper  office  the 
note  Mr.  Keep  had  written  to  set  Cyril's  conduct 
in  a  more  favorable  light,  he  was  still  unsatisfied. 
Restless,  he  bent  his  steps  back  to  John's  room. 
Sitting  there,  he  told  him  how  he  had  done  all 
he  could  think  of  for  Cyril.  "  But,"  said  he, 
leaning  his  head  upon  his  hands  with  a  weary 
sigh,  "  it's  all  of  very  little  use." 

And  after  a  few  moments  he  gave  an  uneasy 
jerk  upon  his  chair,  and  broke  forth  again": 
"  I've  been  about  to-day,  and  nobody  called  me 
a  liar  and  a  cheat,  or  turned  away  from  me,  as 
if  I  was  not  fit  to  be  spoken  to,  the  way  they 
would  treat  Rivers,  to  judge  from  their  talk 
about  him.  And  I  say,"  his  voice  rising 
angrily,  u  that  it's  unjust !  I  have  done  things 
as  wicked  and  mean  and  underhanded  as  ever 


B'2Q  THE  STORY  OF  CYRIL  RIVERS. 

he  did.  If  he  sold  lies  —  as  —  as  she  said,  I 
bought  and  used  'em.  I've  cheated  ten  times 
where  he  has  once,  and  never  winced,  or 
troubled  myself  about  it  afterwards.  Nobody 
puts  me  in  the  newspapers ;  but  I  say  I  deserve 
the  same  as  he  !  " 

"  I  believe  it,"  said  John,  not  reproachfully, 
but  sadly  and  earnestly. 

The  answer  rather  startled  Tom,  it  was  so 
different  from  any  response  the  same  com- 
plaints had  brought  from  other  men  ;  but  it 
satisfied  him  better  than  any  other  could  have 
done.  He  was  longing  to  take  his  place  in  the 
light  of  truth. 

"  But  they  do  not  give  me  the  same,"  he 
complained.  "  They  do  not  publish  me.  The 
fellows  do  not  get  out  of  my  way  as  if  I  was  a 
pickpocket,  or  believe  that  I  could  steal  chil- 
dren's money!  And  if  I  should  go  to  the 
faculty,  and  make  a  confession,  they'd  shut  the 
punishment  off  me,  just  because  I  had  con- 
fessed. And  there  are  others,  too :  if  they 
haven't  gone  quite  so  far  as  Rivers,  they've 
gone  the  same  way,  and  taught  him  to  think 


TOM'S  GRIEF  AND  HIS  COMFORT.       327 

little  of  the  things  that  helped  him  do  this.  I 
don't  want  them  to  have  the  like  punishment, 
and  I'm  not  saying  I  want  it  myself:  I 
couldn't  bear  it.  I  don't  see  how  poor  Rivers 
will.  Only  I  don't  see  how  it's  just,  that  he 
should  be  the  one  to  take  it  for  us  all.  His 
doing  was'  partly  caused  by  ours,  and  why 
should  he  have  all  the  penalty  ?  If  the  rest 
of  us  go  free,  why  not  he,  too?  It's  hard:  I 
say,  it's  hard  !  " 

And  Tom  covering  his  face  with  his  hands, 
tears  of  vexation  stole  through  his  fingers. 

John  looked  at  him,  and  was  moved  with 
compassionating  wonder  at  his  blindness  of 
mind.  His  eyes  kindled,  and  his  expression 
grew  doubly  earnest. 

"  Raddon,"  said  he  slowly,  "  do  you  believe 
in  Almighty  God  ?" 

The  question,  and  the  tone  in  which  it  was 
put,  struck  impressively  upon  Tom's  mind. 
He  raised  his  head,  and  looked  at  John  with 
solemnity  and  humility  in  his  expression. 

"  Yes,  I  do,"  he  answered.  Not  his  early 
associations  with  paganism,  not  the  ignorance 


328  THE  STORY  OF  CYRIL  RIVERS. 

in  which  his  conscience  had  been  left,  not  even 
familiarity  with  sin  and  habitual  indulgence 
therein,  could  kill  the  faith  implanted  in  his 
heart  in  an  Almighty  God,  —  a  faith  degen- 
erated now  almost  into  superstition,  but  ready, 
let  us  hope,  to  rise  again  some  time  to  religion. 
"  Then,"  said  John,  "  just  believe  it  is  he 
who  is  dealing  with  your  life,  and  Rivers's,  and 
the  lives  of  every  one  of  us.  Do  not  sit  down 
and  chafe  yourself  because  what  you  call  an 
unlucky  fortune  has  distributed  an  uneven 
reward.  Do  not  suppose  that  you  and  he  and 
the  rest  went  on  sinning  unheeded,  some  more 
and  some  less  (God  only  can  tell  which),  till 
one  of  you,  by  an  untoward  chance  only, 
pulled  down  upon  himself  the  punishment  you 
all  might  claim.  Who  sent  that  man  here  to 
discover  Rivers  just  on  that  night,  of  all  others 
in  the  world?  Who  kept  you  from  covering 
that  fraud  about  the  melodeon  till  it  was  too 
late  ?  I  say  it  was  God's  will,  and  not  a 
chance.  And  you  are  not  to  call  it  hard  or 
unjust,  either,"  continued  John.  "Do  you 
think  God  loved  him  any  the  less  because  he 


TOM'S  GRIEF  AND  HIS  COMFORT.       329 

interfered  to  stop  him  in  such  a  course  ?  We 
get  only  the  warning  from  the  fall ;  but,  be- 
cause he  was  suddenly  laid  hold  upon  with  a 
heavy  hand,  we  are  not  to  say  that  we  are 
treated  more  kindly  than  he.  I  tell  you,  God 
is  taking  care  of  him,  rescuing  him  from  his 
weakness  in  the  best  and  surest  possible  way. 
And,  if  hard  measures  were  necessary,  you  are 
not  to  complain  of  them,  however  you  may  be 
sorry,  but  just  to  believe  that  they  are  all 
right  and  kind.  You  are  not  to  excuse  Rivers's 
guilt  to  yourself  or  to  him  either.  Offer  him 
as  much  sympathy  and  help  as  you  Can,  but 
not  a  word  of  exculpation.  It  will  be  a  peril- 
ous thing  for  you  both  if  you  do. 

"  And  another  thing,"  continued  John ; 
"  don't  you  lose  the  lesson  God  sends  to  you  in 
his  punishment,  while  you  are  complaining  that 
you  do  not  share  it  as  much  as  you  deserve. 
See  here !  Raddon,  if  you  will  learn  that,  so  as 
to  be  all  your  life  the  better  for  it,  you  seem  to 
lighten  Rivers's  guilt,  to  make  him  before  all 
the  world  an  instrument  of  good  to  you,  instead 
of  harm;  and,  besides,  you  will  redeem  the 


330  THE  STORY  OF  CYRIL  RIVERS. 

injury  you  and  he  have  done  each  other  by 
doing  good  to  other  men." 

John  spoke  with  enthusiasm. 

"  But  how  can  I  learn  the  lesson  ?  "  cried 
Tom,  excited  by  his  words.  "  I  tell  you,  to  go 
up  hill  is  impossible  for  me.  I've  told  no  man 
till  now ;  but  I've  tried  these  three  months  to 
get  a  little  nearer  to  being  an  honest  man,  and 
I  make  nothing  of  it  but  failure.  I  hate  myself. 
I  don't  see  why  I  was  born  such  a  miserable 
dog.  It's  as  bad  with  others,  too,  for  all  that  I 
can  see.  Nobody  can  make  any  thing  of  him- 
self bu£  to  be  just  as  good  or  as  bad  as  he  was 
born.  How  can  I  be  better  ?  It  isn't  in  me  ?  " 

"  No,"  said  John  earnestly  ;  "  but  it  is  in  the 
grace  of  God  for  you.  You  said  you  believed 
in  God,  and,  by  his  works,  you  must  know  he 
is  a  kind  God.  Do  you  suppose,  then,  he 
would  let  you  come  into  the  world,  inheriting 
so  much  weakness  and  wickedness  in  your 
character,  and  then  just  leave  you  alone  to 
manage  with  it  as  you  can  ?  Instead  of  that, 
he  has  been  beside  you  every  moment  of  your 
life  from  your  very  cradle.  It  was  he  who  put 


TOM'S  GRIEF  AND  HIS  COMFORT.       331 

into  your  heart  those  wishes  you  speak  of  about 
being  a  better  man  :  how  else  did  they  ever 
come  there  ?  You  failed,  because  you  did  not 
recognize  the  hand  that  led  you,  and  grasp  it 
tight.  He  has  hurt  and  humbled  you  in  your 
friend's  disgrace, -with  a  plainer  view  of  your 
own  sinfulness  and  ill  desert.  By  that  very 
thing,  you  might  know  he  is  at  your  right  hand 
now." 

Tom  was  looking  at  him  with  an  earnest 
gaze.  "  You  are  not  a  visionary  man,  Seelye," 
he  said  ;  "  and,  as  I  live,  I  believe  that  what 
you  say  is  true.  Tell  me,  what  then  ?  " 

"  Why,  then,"  said  John,  "  he  loves  you, 
and  is  waiting  to  put  into  you  the  virtue  you 
have  not.  And  your  duty  is  to  expect  the  gift, 
to  pray  to  him  for  it,  to  keep  turning  to  him 
in  thought  and  supplication,  from  moment  to 
moment,  and  from  hour  to  hour,  in  dread  lest 
you  should  neglect  to  receive  what  he  holds  out 
to  you.  If  you  will  do  that,  I  tell  you  the 
truth  when  I  tell  you,  you  will  find  in  yourself 
not  an  occasional  weak  wish,  but  a  constant 
will  and  an  increasing  strength  to  flee  from 


332  THE  STORY  OF  CYRIL  RIVERS. 

worldly  and  debasing  pleasures,  and  to  follow 
after  righteousness  and  godliness.  You  can 
never  do  it  alone ;  but,  since  you  are  so  dissat- 
isfied with  yourself,  just  try  this  plan ;  just 
believe  what  I  say." 

There  had  always  been  something  child-like 
about  Tom,  —  confiding,  generous,  impulsive 
traits,  the  best  and  most  attractive  part  of  his 
disposition.  By  the  grace  of  God,  he  was 
willing  now,  in  his  discouragement,  to  receive 
with  child-like  humility  and  trust  this  offered 
hope. 

"  I  do  believe  you,"  he  said  stoutly,  his 
rough  face  brightening  with  earnest  hope  :  "  I 
do  believe  the  God  that  made  me  can  help  me. 
If  I  got  my  life  from  him,  it  must  be  as  you 
say,  that  he  will  give  me  virtue  enough  with  it 
to  make  it  worth  having.  Only — only"  — 
(O  Cyril,  hear  what  is  his  stumbling-block!) 
"  did  not  Rivers  believe  in  him  ?  He  said  he 
did,  you  know.  He  kept  the  Sabbath,  and 
went  to  the  communion.  Why  was  he  left, 
then  ?  " 

"  Is  he  left  ?  "  asked  John.     "  Why  he  lias 


TOM'S  GRIEF  AND  HIS  COMFORT.       333 

4 

been  especially  dealt  with,  and  the  reason 
why  he  got  so  far  away,  was  because  he  trusted 
in  himself,  —  the  very  opposite  reason  from  that 
by  which  you  go  to  God.  I  tell  you,  neither 
Sabbaths  nor  Sunday  schools,  nor  yet  the  sacra- 
ment, can  save  a  man  who  by  them  all  is  not 
trying  to  keep  near  to  God,  to  receive  his 
grace,  and  be  kept  in  obedience  to  his  will. 
The  man  who  lives  in  self-seeking  and  self-trust 
need  not  expect  all  the  ordinances  and  means 
of  grace  to  keep  him  safe.  His  eyes  must  be 
opened  to  see  his  need,  and  to  see  his  Saviour, 
before  he  can  be  helped  ;  and  it  seems  to  me  that 
is  what  God  means  to  do  for  Rivers  by  all  this 
humiliation  and  sorrow.  But,  then,  Raddon, 
don't  think  of  those  who  profess  obedience  and 
do  not  act  it.  There  are  good  people  enough 
to  prove  God's  grace,  people  far  too  good  for 
any  natural  disposition  to  have  made  them  so. 
Just  look  about  you  and  think  of  them.  Oh,  I 
wish  I  could  tell  you  how  happy  it  makes  me  to 
see  them  !  They  are  a  living  assurance  of  the 
promises.  '  I  will  put  my  laws  in  their  hearts,' 
God  says ;  '  I  will  write  them  upon  their  minds.' 


334  THE  STORY  OF  CYRIL   RIVERS. 

'  We  will  come  unto  him,  and  make  our  abode 
with  him.'  '  Him  that  overcometh  will  I  make 
a  pillar  in  the  temple  of  my  God,  and  he  shall 
go  no  more  out,  and  I  will  write  upon  him  the 
name  of  my  God.'  And  a<*ain:  '•He  can  not 
sm,  because  he  is  born  of  G-od."1  Oh,  what 
promises !  and  to  see  people  that  are  living 
witnesses  of  their  truth  !  I  thank  God  for  the 
sight  every  day  ;  but  I  can  never  thank  him 
enough." 

John's  face  shone  as  he  spoke.  He  was  now 
confiding  to  Tom  the  loftiest  and  strongest 
hopes  of  his  life,  and  all  the  joy  he  felt  in  the 
certainty  of  their  achievement. 

Those  good  people  he  had  in  mind  were 
some,  no  doubt,  who  were  raised  far  above  him 
by  age  and  position,  —  men  such  as  that  pure- 
minded  and  pious  scholar,  that  gentle  and  cul- 
tured Christian,  who  presided  over  the  univer- 
sity ;  or  as  some  of  its  professors,  to  whom  all 
sciences  were  only  studies  of  the  thoughts  of 
God,  expressed  in  his  works  ;  men  clothed  with 
holiness  and  humility,  knowledge  and  love. 
They  walked  as  saints  to  John's  eyes,  and 


TOM'S  GRIEF  AND  HIS   COMFORT.       335 

he  thanked  God  for  his  hope  in  following 
after. 

But  Tom,  as  he  answered,  sighing,  "  Yes, 
there  are  good  people,  almost  as  good  as  the 
angels,  I  believe,"  had  in  his  mind  no  bent, 
wrinkled,  gray-beard  figure,  but  the  vision  of 
one  young  and  fair,  and  gayly  clad,  with  face 
that  often  gleamed  with  mirth,  but,  as  he 
fancied  it  now,  looked  upon  him  with  bright, 
startled,  indignant  eyes,  as  it  had  rebuked  him 
when  he  had  once  foolishly  boasted  of  sinful 
conduct. 

Ah,  well !  God  has  different  instruments  for 
different  hearts  ;  and  a  visible  beauty  and  grace 
must  express  to  some  what  eyes  more  enlight- 
ened can  discern  in  the  spirit  under  any  ancient, 
worn,  and  faded  garb.  But  the  ligktest-hearted 
maiden  that  ever  won  a  man  to  thoughts  of  a 
nobler,  truer  life,  is  none  the  less  God's  instru- 
ment than  the  grave  teachers  whom  long  years 
of  grace  and  experience  have  trained  to  do  his 
work. 

Notwithstanding  new  resolves,  and  all  John's 
counsels  and  encouragements,  Tom  went  away 


336  THE  STORY  OF  CYRIL  RIVERS. 

with  some  fear  and  trembling  still  in  his  heart, 
lest  the  new  light  he  seemed  to  have  found 
should  again  vanish  in  darkness,  as  good 
thoughts  had  passed  away  from  his  mind  before. 
As  he  walked  on  in  this  mood,  he  passed  the 
college  bookstore,  a  room  in  one  of  the  build- 

O  7 

ings,  where  second-hand  text-books  of  every 
description  were  for  sale.  It  came  into  his 
mind  that  he  would  buy  a  Bible  ;  for  he  had 
none.  Think  of  that,  dear  reader !  —  in  this 
land,  where  a  Bible  is  the  child's  first  well- 
remembered  birthday  gift,  his  Sunday-school 
prize,  the  parting  token  of  love  and  tender 
anxiety  his  mother  puts  into  his  hand  when  he 
leaves  home,  her  dying  legacy,  —  in  this  land 
where  the  gift  of  a  Bible  is  the  commonest 
expression  of  Christian  charity,  or  the  priceless 
sign  of  fondest  affection.  I  wonder  if  there  is 
one  of  you  who  has  been  so  friendless  that  he 
was  suffered  to  grow  to  manhood  in  the 
need  of  purchasing  for  himself  the  book  of  God  ! 
But  poor  Tom  had  no  Bible.  If  he  had  had  a 
mother,  even  the  most  irreligious,  I  can  not 
think  it  would  have  been  so.  But  his  father 


TOM'S  GRIEF  AND  HIS  COMFORT.       337 

had  almost  forgotten  that  such  a  book  existed : 
it  was  the  last  thing  he  would  have  thought  of  as 
a  necessary  item  of  his  boy's  outfit  when  he  sent 
him  from  home  ;  and  Tom,  obliged  to  have  one 

*  '  O 

in  school,  had  left  it  behind  him  when  he  came 
to  college,  and  never  discovered  his  poverty 
without  it  till  this  minute. 

He  went  into  the  bookstore  and  asked  for 
one.  The  request  seemed  to  surprise  the 
student  who  waited  there.  It  was  such  an 
unusual  one,  he  was  not  sure  he  could  comply 
with  it.  He  climbed  upon  a  stool,  and  hunted 
among  the  books  upon  the  high  shelves,  and  in 
the  back  corners,  until  at  last  he  brought  forth 
a  much-abused  volume,  bound  in  faded  red 
morocco,  with  broken  clasps.  Its  strong  bind- 
ing held  it  all  together;  but  idle  hands, 
inconceivably  wanton,  had  cut  and  defaced  the 
cover,  so  that  it  was  very  shabby.  It  might 
have  been,  nevertheless,  a  mother's  or  a  sister's 
gift,  which  some  foolish  boy  had  cast  away  with 
other  books,  less  precious,  and  profited  by  as 
little  as  this.  Tom  cared  little  about  its  looks  : 
it  was  a  Bible,  —  that  was  the  chief  thing  to 

22 


338  THE  STORY  OF  CYRIL  RIVERS. 

him  at  present.  He  paid  for  it  at  once,  and 
hastened  away. 

Seated  in  his  room,  he  opened  the  book,  to 
meet,  where  his  eyes  first  full  upon  the  page, 
such  words  as  these  :  — 

"  I  stretch  forth  my  hands  unto  thee  :  my 
soul  thirsteth  after  thee  as  a  thirsty  land." 

He  paused,  his  whole  heart  shaken  by  the 
importunate  cry  with  which  it  echoed  those 
words.  But  that  cry  was  expressed  with  yet 
more  craving  in  the  next  verse. 

"  Hear  me  speedily,  O  Lord !  my  spirit 
faileth :  hide  not  thy  face  from  me,  lest  I  be 
like  to  them  that  go  down  into  the  pit." 

Yes,  this  was  the  true  voice  of  the  longing 
and  the  fear  he  had  brought  from  John 
Seelye's ;  and  from  out  of  it,  as  did  the  song, 
so  did  Torn's  soul  rise  to  trembling  trust. 

"  Cause  me  to  hear  thy  loving-kindness  in 
the  morning  ;  for  in  thee  do  I  trust :  cause  me 
to  know  the  way  in  which  I  should  walk ;  for  I 
lift  up  my  soul  unto  thee. 

"  Deliver  me,  O  Lord,  from  mine  enemies  : 
I  flee  unto  thee  to  hide  me." 


TOM'S  GRIEF  AND  HIS  COMFORT,       339 

It  was  the  refuge  that  John  had  showed, 
that  Tom  had  accepted.  He  was  praying  the 
words  that  he  read  with  passionate  earnestness. 

"  Teach  me  to  do  thy  will,  for  -thou  art  my 
God ;  thy  spirit  is  good ;  lead  me  into  the  land 
of  uprightness. 

"  Quicken  me,  O  Lord,  for  thy  name's  sake  ; 
for  thy  righteousness'  sake  bring  my  soul  out  of 
trouble." 

Do  you  not  think  the  God  of  his  life 
answered  that  prayer  ?  Indeed  it  was  so.  The 
God  who  had  made  and  watched  over  him,  at 
this  hour  took  him  by  the  hand  to  lead  him  out 
of  evil  habits,  out  of  ignorance,  out  of  a  nature 

'  O  •* 

full  of  depravity,  through  many  falls  and  con- 
flicts, into  the  land  of  uprightness. 

I  have  something  more  to  say  of  Tom  ;  but 
I  can  not  say  it  here.  I  must  go  back  now  to 
the  main  personage  of  my  story. 


340  THE  STORY  OF  CYRIL  RIVERS. 


CHAPTER   XVIII. 

THE     LESSON     LEARNED. 

"  Our  Lord  Jesus  Christ,  by  whom  we  have    now  received  the 
atonement." 

E  left  Cyril  in  a  bitter  hour,  or- 
phaned and  disgraced.  He  was  at 
first  bewildered  by  the  suddenness 
of  the  blows  that  had  fallen  upon 
him ;  but  when  the  morning  dawned, 
by  the  light  of  the  bright  spring  sunshine,  by 
the  sound  of  the  voices  and  footsteps  of  busy 
people  in  the  streets,  by  the  knowledge  that 
penetrated  into  the  hushed  and  darkened  house 
of  the  world  outside,  awakened  again  to  its 
every-day  work  and  hopes  and  pleasures,  the 
force  of  contrast  made  real  to  Cyril  his 
changed  position.  The  truth  of  all  that  had 
happened  became  clear  to  him  ;  and  his  situa- 
tion, in  consequence,  was  made  plain.  Friends 


THE  LESSON  LEARNED.  341 

and  acquaintances  were  removed  from  him  by 
the  knowledge  of  his  deed  whispered  from  one 
to  another.  Admiration  was  turned  into  con- 
tempt, favor  into  indignation.  Classmates 
must  be  ashamed  of  his  name,  —  a  name  whose 
disgrace  was  irretrievable,  the  name  of  one 
called  a  gentleman,  and  convicted  of  dishonor ; 
of  one  professedly  a  Chi'istian,  yet  found  guilty 
of  deliberate  and  audacious  deceit.  Oh,  what 
shame  and  bitterness  were  in  his  soul,  as  by  the 
morning  light  he  saw  these  things  ! 

But  there  was  a  still  greater  distress  for  him 
in  the  remembrance  of  his  relations  to  his 
mother  and  sisters.  They  were  weeping  in 
sore  grief  over  their  beloved  ;  and  in  addition, 
even  in  these  first  hours  of  mourning,  prospec- 
tive poverty  and  loss  of  home  intruded  their 
terrifying  faces.  But  Cyril  knew  of  a  blow  to 
fall  upon  those  burdened  hearts,  in  comparison 
with  which  present  sufferings  would  seem  light ; 
and  it  was  to  come  through  him,  the  very  one 
chiefly  looked  to  for  strength  and  solace. 
Judge  whether  he  was  yet  so  hardened  in  sel- 
fishness that  he  could  look  forward  to  this,  and 


342  THE  STORY  OF  CYRIL  RIVERS. 

not  feel  his  heart  sink  in  misery,  enduring  a 
punishment  that  seemed  to  him  greater  than 
he  could  bear. 

Whichever  way  he  turned,  there  was  dark- 
ness in  the  future.  He  had  cut  himself  off 
from  hope.  Opportunity  had  gone  with  friends 
and  reputation.  The  church  must  discard  him 
with  the  college.  Where  could  he  even  earn 
bread  for  himself  and  those  dependent  upon 
him,  when  the  story  of  his  disgrace  had  gone 
abroad,  and  branded  him  as  a  forger  and  de- 
ceiver ? 

Bowed  down  that  day  in  such  wretchedness 
as  he  could  not  have  conceived  of  before,  there 
was  no  friend  from  whom  he  could  ask  the  re- 
lief of  sympathy.  His  mother  did  not  know 
all ;  no  one  else  here  knew.  Ah,  if  his  father 
could  have  lived  a  little  longer  !  if  Cyril  could 
have  called  him  back  far  enough  from  the  mists 
of  death  to  make  him  understand  all !  Cyril 
had  longed  to  make  him  comprehend  in  that 
dying  hour;  -but,  if  he  had  succeeded,  he 
thought  his  father  would  not  have  listened  so 
peacefully,  so  calmly ;  would  have  had  more 


THE  LESSON  LEARNED.  343 

words  to  say  than  those  few,  "  There  is  the 
atonement,  my  son  ! "  as  if  in  those  he  had 
said  all  that  was  needful,  all  that  human  love 
and  wisdom  could  say. 

But,  however  the  case  might  be,  those  words 
were  all  that  Cyril  had  of  hope  or  help  in  his 
trouble ;  and  his  mind  clung  to  them  in  its  des- 
peration, as^to  a  rope  from  which  confused  seas 
of  misery  tried  to  beat  him  away,  —  a  rope 
tliat  hung  slack  under  his  grasp,  that  fell  from 
out  of  clouds  and  darkness,  and  that  he  could 
not  yet  find  any  hope  to  make  him  believe  could 
draw  him  to  the  shore  of  safety.  Yet  it  was 
all  he  had  to  lay  hold  of ;  and  he  clung  to  it, 
though  it  seemed  to  go  down  with  him  under 
the  waves. 

"  The  atonement !  "  Cyril  had  heard  of  it 
from  very  childhood.  Once  he  fancied  that 
he  understood  its  import ;  but  now  the  words 
seemed  unmeaning.  Another  had  suffered  for 
his  sins ;  that  would  save  him  everlasting  pun- 
ishment, it  was  said,  if  he  would  put  trust  in 
the  deed.  But  would  it  save  his  mother  the 
anguish  and  shame,  his  sisters  the  bitter  weep- 


344  THE  STORY  OF  CYRIL  RIVERS. 

ing,  his  sins  were  going  to  give  them  ? 
Would  it  save  the  shadow  thrown  upon  his 
father's  memory,  because  of  having  brought  up 
such  a  son?  Would  it  save  to  himself  the 
opportunities  lost,  the  blighted  life,  the  friends 
and  pleasures  gone?  Would  it  save  to  his 
classmates  the  shaken  faith  in  truth  and  man- 
hood, and  in  the  power  of  the  Christianity  he 
professed  ?  Would  it  save  his  scholars  in  the 
Sunday  school  the  awful  lesson  that  all  he  had 
taught  in  the  name  of  truth  was  but  a  winning 
tale,  yet  idle  and  meaningless,  justly  scoffed  at 
by  the  profane  as  a  fabric  of  hypocrisy  and 
folly?  Would  it  save  the  Church  of  Christ 
the  reproach  it  must  suffer  from  the  open  sin 
of  one  brought  up  in  its  bosom,  and  enrolled 
among  its  members?  How  could  that  be 
called  an  atonement  for  his  sins  which  did  not, 
save  the  hurt  they  had  done  ? 

These  thoughts  wearied  and  baffled  him 
when  he  would  find  comfort.  Yet  again  and 
again,  in  the  midst  of  his  confusion  and  per- 
plexity, the  words,  "  But  there  is  the  atonement, 
my  son,"  and  the  assured  and  satisfied  tone  in 


TEE  LESSON  LEARNED.  345 

which  they  were  spoken,  would  sound  in  his 
ears,  as  if  some  instinct  in  his  soul,  or,  perhaps, 
the  unrecognized  Comforter  there,  knew  that 
their  simple  repetition  had  enough  in  it  to 
'refute  all  that  the  whispers  of  the  Tempter 
could  suggest.  And  so  Cyril  could  not  but 
revolve  those  words  in  his  thoughts,  till,  what 
with  desperate  longing,  and  what  with  remem- 
brances of  good  and  faithful  teaching,  and 
what  with  being  beaten  down  to  the  ground  in 
humiliation,  he  found  his  way  to  some  knowl- 
edge of  their  truth. 

Will  you  bear  with  me  while  I  detail  some 
of  the  workings  of  his  mind  upon  this  subject  ? 
They  may  unfold  to  us,  as  to  him,  something 
good  and  precious  to  remember. 

He  found  a  clew  that  led  him  some  steps 
toward  the  light,  in  this  thought  first  of  all: 
this  church  that  he  had  injured  —  it  was  not 
merely  a  collection  of  men  agreed  upon  certain 
beliefs,  theories  beneficial  to  mankind,  that 
they  were  anxious  to  propagate  ;  it  was,  in- 
stead, the  cause  of  God  upon  earth.  In 
offending  against  the  church,  then,  it  was  God 


346  THE  STORY  OF  CYRIL  RIVERS. 

against  whom  he  had  offended,  —  God,  its 
founder  and  its  life.  Those  Sunday-school 
children  —  they  were  not  merely  individuals 
whom  Cyril  had  thrown  back  toward  ignorance 
and  sin,  the  causes  of  their  suffering:  they 
were  God's  children,  it  was  their  Father  who 
was  wounded  by  their  hurt.  The  widow  and 
the  fatherless,  too,  were  his  special  care,  and  it 
was  God  who  was  grieved  in  the  increase  of 
their  grief.  And  when  Cyril  had  maltreated 
himself,  wasted  his  time  and  talents,  injured 
his  soul,  and  thrown  away  his  good  name,  it 
was  against  his  Maker  and  Master  still  that  he 
had  sinned.  All  other  pleas,  his  own  and  the 
world's,  were  swallowed  up  in  this  one,  God's. 
Every  other  accuser,  angry  or  sorrowful,  faded 
away  into  the  background,  and  left  to  Cyril's 
perception  only  the  vision  of  this  great  One, 
God.  It  filled  his  mind :  there  was  no  room 
in  his  imagination  for  any  thing  else.  There 
seemed  no  room  in  the  world.  Upon  his  right 
hand  and  his  left  hand,  before  him  and  behind 
him,  was  God;  he  was  surrounded  .by  God. 
What  could  he  do,  overtaken  by  this  convic- 


THE  LESSON  LEARNED.  347 

tion,  but  to  cry  out,  "  Against  Thee,  and  Thee 
only,  have  I  sinned,  and  done  this  evil  in  thy 
sight!" 

Yes,  in  God's  sight !  There  was  no  other 
eye  to  be  taken  account  of  by  Cyril  now. 
How  strange  that  he  had  once  chiefly  dreaded 
that  parents  and  friends  should  know  his  deed, 
when  all  along  he  had  been  in  God's  sight ! 
The  thought  of  that  one  gaze  overwhelmed 
him  now :  whither  could  he  flee  from  it  ? 
where  hide  himself  from  its  penetration  ? 

Oh  !  he  remembered  now  how  the  stranger 
who  had  found  him  out  had  spoken  of  an  hour 
when  he  might  call  to  the  rocks  to  fall  upon 
him  and  hide  him.  This  was  not  the  hour, 
though  he  was  so  conscious,  in  his  sinful  ness, 
of  God's  sight ;  why  not  ?  why  not  ? 

His  groping  mind  caught  another  clew. 
Why?  because  there  was  the  atonement,  the 
atonement  still  available !  Against  God  he 
had  sinned,  and  to  God  had  the  atonement 
been  made.  That  it  must  be  sufficient,  the 
instinctive  spring  with  which  his  heart  leaped 
to  seize  the  -  thought  was  witness  enough  if  he 


348  THE  STORY  OF  CYRIL  RIVERS. 

had  not  his  father's  testimony  and  that  of  the 
Scriptures.  In  the  joy  and  relief  of  this, 
other  hopeful  thoughts  crowded  fast  •  into  his 
mind.  God  must  have  meant  the  name  of 
that  sacrifice  to  have  its  full  meaning,  and  by 
it,  then,  in  some  way,  might  Cyril  not  hope 
his  sins  would  be  nullified,  —  those  heavy  sins, 
that  had  weighed  him  down  with  anguish? 
He,  indeed,  could  see  no  way  to  rectify  their 
consequences  to  himself  or  others  ;  but,  since 
they  were  atoned  for,  might  he  not  believe 
God  had  found  a  way  ?  that  there  was  a  good 
He  had  set  over  against  the  evil  that  van- 
quished it ;  nay,  that  could  bring  goodness  out 
of  it,  as  flowers  spring  out  of  a  bloody  field,  — 
the  same  good  that,  as  was  sung  long,  long 
ago,  could  bring  praise  out  of  the  wrath  of 
man  ? 

Cyril  had  only  a  glimpse  of  all  that  was  in 
this  thought  at  that  hour,  though  he  saw 
enough  to  comfort  him ;  but,  through  many 
after-years,  this  view  of  the  atonement  served 
him  as  a  subject  to  ponder  over  with  unspeaka- 
ble wonder  and  thankfulness.  He  gradually 


THE  LESSON  LEARNED.  349 

gained  a  clearer  understanding  of  it.  He  saw 
Christ  to  be  far,  far  more  in  benefit  to  his 
church  than  the  harm  of  all  the  sins  of  men 
against  it.  He  saw  Christ  found  in  despair  by 
transgressors  to  be  sweeter  than  their  hard  way 
down  into  the  depths  had  been  bitter.  He  saw 
Christ  the  Comforter,  found  in  sorrow,  more 
precious  than  the  grief  was  hard.  All  his  life 
long  he  rejoiced  to  watch  the  workings  of  this 
wonderful  alchemy,  which  brings  glory  out  of 
shame,  strength  out  of  weakness,  joy  out  of 
sorrow,  and  which  shall  prevail  more  and  more 
upon  the  earth  till  the  day  of  atoning  is 
past,  because  sin  has  dominion  no  more. 

Cyril  had  need  of  all  the  spiritual  comfort  and 
strength  he  could  obtain,  in  the  bitter  trials, 
that,  after  that  first  day,  came  thick  and  fast 
upon  him.  His  father  had  not  been  laid  in  the 
grave  before  the  altered  looks  toward  himself 
of  the  people  who  came  to  the  house  showed 
that  his  story  had  reached  his  native  town. 
And  at  last  one  of  his  father's  deacons  cuine 
for  a  private  interview  with  him.  He  had  a 
painful  duty  to  undertake,  he  said,  both  as 


350  THE  STORY  OF  CYRIL  RIVERS. 

Cyril's  brother  church-member,  and  as  one 
who  loved  him  for  his  father's  sake.  He  had 
brought  both  stories  that  had  been  published  in 
Eaton,  and  he  must  hear  the  truth  of  them 
from  Cyril's  own  lips.  Cyril  told  it  as  well  as 
he  could  for  agitation  and  shame.  He  pleaded 
no  apology,  and  asked  no  leniency :  that  would 
have  seemed  bold,  in  view  of  the  enormity  of 
what  he  had  done.  He  did  not  urge  his  peni- 
tence :  that  was  too  cheap  and  easy  a  thing  to 
weigh  against  his  sin.  He  told  the  simple 
story,  submitting  to  the  result.  That  story, 
and  the  sight  of  the  culprit,  moved  the  old 
man,  between  wonder,  indignation,  and  grief, 
to  great  excitement,  which  must  find  expres- 
sion. He  did  not  understand  Cyril's  not  mak- 
ing any  effort  at  self-extenuation,  and  the  quiet- 
ness of  his  utter  humiliation.  He  could  not 
help  admonishing  the  young  man  whom  God 
had  already  so  effectually  warned;  he  must 
remind  him  how  the  blow  would  fall  upon  his 
mother :  as  if  no  agony  had  already  been  suf- 
fered at  that  thought !  he  must  point  out  again 
all  the  sad  consequences :  as  if  they  had  been 


THE  LESSON  LEARNED.  351 

out  of  the  sinner's  mind  one  moment  through 
the  last  two  days  ! 

He  was  a  good  and  kind  man ;  but  such  a 
flagrant  offense  as  this  had  never  come  within 
the  sphere  of  his  action  before,  and  he  knew 
not  how  to  treat  it.  It  appeared  to  him  that 
Gyril  never  could  be  reproved  enough.  He 
was  the  only  worldly  dependence  of  his  mother 
and  sisters ;  and  such  a  revelation  of  the 
worthlessness  of  his  character  at  this  time  was 
terrible.  No  wonder  the  old  man  was  exceed- 
ingly agitated  and  distressed !  He  talked  long 
to  poor  Cyril  of  the  guilt  and  disgrace  he  had 
incurred,  without  perceiving  how  forcibly  it 
had  already  been  impressed  upon  him,  or 
without  suggesting  to  him  any  possibility  of  his 
ever  being  able  to  retrieve  the  wrongs  he  had 
committed. 

But  Cyril  saw  now,  that,  whatever  compas- 
sion might  be  felt  in  the  parish  toward  his 
mother,  the  story  could  not  long  be  kept  from 
her.  And  though  he  knew  the  suffering  it 
must  cause  her,  yet  he  longed  to  have  her  know 
it,  longed  for  her  forgiveness  and  counsel.  It 


352  THE  STORY  OF  CYRIL  RIVERS. 

only  remained  to  choose  the  time  to  tell  her. 
It  seemed  to  him,  that,  should  he  wait  till  after 
his  father's  funeral,  in  the  dreary  time  of  the 
first  utter  loneliness  in  the  house,  and  when 
preparations  for  removal,  and  plans  for  the  sad 
future,  must  be  undertaken,  the  blow  would 
fall  more  heavily  than  now.  Beside  his  father's 
coffin,  where  the  peaceful  face  would  seem  to 
repeat  to  them  both  the  comfort  that  had  satis- 
fied the  good  man  in  death,  only  there  Cyril 
felt  that  he  could  tell  his  mother.  And  there 
he  did  tell  her,  turning  ever  and  anon  toward 
that  still  face  for  help  to  bear  the  sight  of 
the  pain,  the  grief,  the  agitation  he  read  upon 
hers,  as  he  traced  the  story  from  the  commence- 
ment of  his  college  course  down  to  the  last 
shameful  details.  She  could  not  hide  from 
him  the  dismay  and  sorrow  with  which  they 
overwhelmed  her,  though  she  had  thought  her 
heart  dulled  by  the  first  grief  to  all  events  that 
could  follow.  But  she  had  drawn  near  to 
God,  and  was  keeping  there  for  help  to  bear 
her  loss,  and  so  was  ready  to  reach  out  her 
hand  for  his  support  in  this  new  affliction. 


THE  LESSON  LEARNED.  353 

And,  moreover,  she  saw  how  great  the  peril  of 
Cyril's  soul  had  been,  and  that  God  had  been 
dealing  with  him  by  his  providences  and  his 
grace,  so  as  to  make  him  thoroughly  humble 
and  repentant.  She  would  have  been  no  true 
mother,  if,  in  the  midst  of  disappointed  pride 
and  trust,  she  yet  could  not  feel  some  thankful- 
ness for  his  correction. 

So  she  had  no  reproaches  for  him,  only  for- 
giveness and  sympathy  and  counsel.  If  it  had 
not  been,  afterward,  for  a  new  confidence 
placed  by  her  in  him,  and  for  her  love  and  help 
when  all  the  world  distrusted  him,  and  met 
him  with  coldness  and  rebuff,  I  know  not  how 
he  could  have  borne  the  troubles  of  those 
shaded  years  of  his  entrance  upon  active  life. 

A  day  or  two  after  his  father's  funeral,  Cyril 
received  two  letters  from  Eaton.  One,  in  Tom 
Raddon's  peculiar  handwriting  and  orthography, 
written  very  earnestly  and  affectionately,  told 
the  story  of  the  writer's  actions  and  emotions 
since  he  parted  from  Cyril,  and  in  what  new 
beliefs  he  had  found  comfort.  It  was  full  of 
sympathy,  and  full  of  repentance ;  and  it 

28 


354  THE  STORY  OF  CYRIL  RIVERS. 

touched  Cyril  not  only  by  the  unshaken  love  it 
revealed,  and  by  the  simply-told  story  of  all 
Tom  had  done  for  him,  but  by  the  manner  in 
which  it  seemed  to  take  for  granted  in  him  a 
right  state  of  feeling  under  all  these  troubles. 

o  o 

Tom  showed  no  more  fear  and  distrust  for  him 
than  if  he  had  never  known  him  do  wrong. 
For  this,  and  for  all  Tom's  generosity,  it  seemed 
to  Cyril  that  he  never  could  be  grateful  enough. 
Very  humbling  thoughts  came  with  the  feeling. 
He  looked  back  to  the  hour  when  Tom  had 
first  seized  his  half-unwilling  hand,  and  vowed 
to  be  his  friend,  and  saw,  that,  all  the  way 
from  that  time  to  this,  the  one  he  had  secretly 
looked  down  upon  had  played  the  noble  part  in 
their  companionship.  Upon  Tom's  side,  friend- 
ship had  been  no  false  seeming,  put  on  for  con- 
venience, or  worn  from  indolence  and  good- 
nature. He  had  been  always  faithful  to  the 
extent  of  his  knowledge,  and  had  signally 
proved  the  genuineness  of  his  affection  in  these 
dark  hours  at  the  last. 

The  other  letter  was  from  the  college  faculty, 
dismissing  Cyril  from  his  connection  with  the 


THE  LESSON  LEARNED.  355 

institution.  He  had  expected  that.  He  could 
not,  under  any  circumstances,  have  returned  to 
college  ;  but  the  little  note  might  Avell  revive  a 
long  train  of  sorrowful  reflections.  It  had 
ended  in  this,  then,  —  that  college  career  that 
was  begun  with  so  many  hopes !  The  years 
that  were  to  have  furnished  him  with  power  to 
attain  a  high  place  in  life  had  left  him  despoiled 
of  reputation,  well-nigh  crushed  with  disgrace. 
The  time  and  the  place  that  were  to  have 
witnessed  the  beginning  of  honors  won  had 
known  his  name  conspicuous  only  for  shame. 

But  even  while  poor  Cyril,  with  heavy  heart, 
and  eyes  dimmed  with  sorrowful  tears,  gazed 
upon  that  note,  there  came  to  him  a  faint  whisper 
of  comfort  and  peace.  "  Nevertheless,"  said  this 
voice,  "  it  is  not  all  lost.  Since  you  have 
turned  to  Him,  God  is  so  merciful,  he  will 
redeem  something  for  you  out  of  what  you  have 
so  recklessly  flung  away.  Here  is  a  lesson 
lie  teaches  you  out  of  your  college  course,  that 
is  better  than  all  other  learning  without  it :  he 
whom  the  Lord  upholds  alone  is  safe  ;  he  who 
has  set  the  Lord  always  before  him,  whose  eyes 


356  THE  STORY  OF  CYRIL  RIVERS. 

are  ever  toward  the  Lord,  whose  cry  is  unto  him 
evening  and  morning  and  at  noon, — he  only 
shall  surely  not  be  moved  :  the  God  whose  atone- 
ment can  deliver  thy  soul  from  death  is  the  only 
Power  whose  wisdom  can  keep  thy  feet  from 
falling.  God  has  brewed  a  bitter  drink  for  you 
out  of  the  fruits  of  your  folly  ;  but  through  his 
goodness  it  is  a  wine  of  strength.  The  jewel 
you  lightly  esteemed  at  first  he  has  forced  you 
at  last  to  stoop  low,  and  painfully  to  find :  but 
it  is  humility  and  the  fear  of  the  Lord ;  its  gain 
makes  light  the  loss  of  laurels  and  renown. 
He  is  so  true  and  gracious,  that  he  has  done 
better  for  you  than  you  would  ask.  He  will 
make  up  all  the  wanton  waste  if  you  will  be  his 
disciple,  and  henceforth  seek  to  follow  him  as 
faithfully,  as  watchfully,  as  he  has  followed  you. 
There  is  this  still  left  for  you,  —  to  thank  him 
with  your  life." 

But  Cyril's  lesson  was  learned  at  a  great  cost ; 
it  was  forced  upon  his  heedless  heart  only  after 
severe  and  terrible  punishment.  May  it  not 
answer  in  place  of  such  sad  personal  experience, 
—  experience  whose  teaching,  alas !  is  some- 


THE  LESSON  LEARNED.  357 

times  read  all  too  late,  —  to  others  as  careless 
and  as  confident  as  he?  Of  all  who  were 
shocked  at  his  fall,  there  were  few  of  his  com- 
panions to  trace  its  causes  back  to  the  slight 
deceptions,  the  trifling  indulgences  in  vanity,  of 
which  others  were  as  guilty  as  he.  Yet  noth- 
ing is  surer  than  the  connection.  If  it  had  not 
been  for  his  familiarity  with  sin,  he  would 
not  have  risked  so  boldly,  and  lost  his  honor. 
Friends,  we  can  none  of  us  prophesy  of  our- 
selves, or  tell  how  far  we  shall  be  carried,  when 
we  say,  that,  in  little  things,  it  matters  not 
whether  we  take  the  easy  instead  of  the 
upright  way.  When  we  are  accustomed  to 
such  reasoning,  the  sin  to  which  there  is  any 
temptation  will  always  seem  a  little  thing.  Let 
us  rather  ask  God  to  fix  in  us  the  conviction 
that  no  transgression  is  small.  Then  we  shall 
be  first  cleansed  from  secret  faults,  and  so  for 
ever  kept  back  from  presumptuous  sins. 

What  I  might  have  put  in  a  preface,  —  a 
few  words  about  one  of  my  reasons  for  writing 
this  story,  —  it  seems  to  me  will  be  better  un- 
derstood here.  It  was  partly  suggested  to  me 


358  THE  STORY  OF  CYRIL  RIVERS 

by  hearing  some  young  persons  talking  lightly 
of  practices  such  as  purchasing  essays  from  a 
ready  writer,  to  read  in  the  class,  and  the  like, 
although  events  very  similar  to  those  narrated 
in  the  latter  part  of  this  story  had  but  recently 
shocked  them,  as  well  as  the  rest  of  the  com- 
munity. Not  only  had  their  careless  eyes  seen 
no  connection  between  the  little  deceits  and 
the  great  ones,  biit  so  blunted  had  their  moral 

O  ' 

sense  become  by  the  prevalence  of  bad  habits, 
that  in  the  former  they  scarcely  seemed  to  see 
any  sin  at  all.  But  these  cheating  tricks  of 
boyish  cunning  that  are  so  commonly  practiced 
in  every  school  and  college  throughout  the 
land  ;  that  the  best-principled  youth  scarcely 
lift  their  voices  to  condemn  ;  that  parents  and 
guardians  often  wink  at,  or  perhaps  openly 
laugh  about  and  applaud ;  and  that  teachers 
vainly  and  half-despairingly  strive  to  weed  out, 
—  are  not  of  little  account.  The  notions  so 
recklessly  adopted  at  school  are  carried  from 
thence  into  business  and  political  life.  The 
youth  who  cheats  for  the  benefit  of  his  class  or 
his  division  will  cheat  for  his  firm  or  his  party 


THE  LESSON  LEARNED.  359 

soon.  The  youth  who  begs  or  buys  the  ser- 
vices of  his  classmate  to  help  him  to  a  station 
he  has  not  earned,  will,  before  long,  buy  the 
services  of  the  forger  and  the  counterfeiter,  to 
make  him  a  millionnaire,  or  will  buy  lying  ora- 
tors and  unprincipled  voters  to  make  him  a 
governor  or  a  senator.  And  after  the  most 
flagrant  wickedness,  the  most  utter  meanness, 
he  and  his  coadjutors,  called  by  the  world  re- 
spectable men,  defended  with  virtuous  indigna- 
tion from  all  attacks  by  their  party  organs,  will 
laugh  together  in  their  conclaves  over  the 
smart  wire-pulling,  the  cunning  tricks,  with  the 
same  unconcern  with  which  the  schoolboys 
among  themselves  boasted  of  the  deception  of 
their  tutor  as  a  good  joke.  And  all  the  while 
our  country's  trade  and  government  languish  in 
every  part,  from  fraud  and  corruption,  the  un- 
scrupulous selfishness  of  private  citizens  every- 
where making  rotten  the  foundations  upon 
which  rests  the  welfare  of  the  community. 

The  warning  is  not  the  remedy ;  but  there 
is  a  remedy,  and  I  point  it  out  —  listen,  young 
people  and  children  —  not  to  your  teachers  and 


3GO  THE  STORY  OF  CYRIL  RIVERS. 

parents,  but  to  you.  I  have  that  faith  in  your 
love  of  your  country,  and  in  your  anxiety  to  be 
a  benefit  to  it,  that  I  believe  you  will  strive 
after  the  safeguard  yourselves.  It  is  in  the 
fear  of  the  Lord,  which  is  clean,  and  in  the 
commandment  of  the  Lord,  which  is  pure. 
There  is  One  who  desireth  truth  in  the  inward 
parts,  and  who  is  of  purer  eyes  than  to  behold 
iniquity.  Ask  him  to  be  continually  with  you, 
to  hold  you  by  the  right  hand,  to  guide  you 
with  his  counsel,  to  create  in  you  a  clean  heart, 
and  to  renew  a  right  spirit  within  you.  Ask 
him  not  to  cast  you  away  from  his  presence ; 
not  to  take  his  Holy  Spirit  from  you  for  an 
hour,  for  a  moment.  And  he  will  be  gracious 
to  you,  teach  you  his  ways,  and  make  you  de- 
lifjht  to  do  his  will.  I  can  not  continue  Cyril's 
history  much  farther,  to  show  how  what  he 
learned  from  his  college  course  was  still  more 

O 

deeply  impressed  upon  his  mind  by  the  trials  of 
the  following  years,  by  all  the  humiliations  and 
difficulties  arising  from  his  disgrace  that  beset 

O  G 

him  in  the  struggle  to  obtain  a  livelihood.  His 
mother  moved  to  the  nearest  large  town,  to 


THE  LESSON  LEARNED.  361 

support  herself  by  taking  boarders ;  and  his 
sisters,  by  hard  endeavor,  found  opportunity  to 
earn  the  scanty  pay  of  teachers  ;  but,  wher- 
ever Cyril  tried  to  obtain  even  the  humblest 
employment,  the  old  story  would  waken  preju- 
dice against  him.  To -win  back  trust  and  his 
good  name,  to  get  even  the  least  opportunity  to 
do  it,  for  a  long  time  seemed  well-nigh  impos- 
sible. Not  only  must  he  suffer  in  this  himself, 
but  he  must  see  his  family  suffer  also.  He 
learned  to  be  very  meek  and  patient,  very  un- 
selfish and  thoughtful,  while  his  trust  in  God 
kept  him  from  being  utterly  cowed  and  dis- 
couraged, and  a  sense  of  his  desert  withheld  him 

O    •     ' 

from  repining.  The  powers  of  his  mind  were 
developed  and  matured  by  his  combat  with  ad- 
versity. He  had  an  object  in  winning  the  vic- 
tory, —  to  make  some  recompense  to  the  dear 
friends  he  had  so  injured ;  and  he  was  success- 
ful at  last.  He  outlived  the  story  of  his  dis- 
grace, and  gained  respect  and  influence.  But 
all  the  days_  of  his  life  he  walked  softly,  carry- 
ing a  memory  that  admonished  him,  and  that 
kept  his  heart  fixed  in  God's  fear. 


362  THE  STORY  OF  CYRIL  RIVERS. 

I  know  my  story  is  properly  finished  here  ; 
but  I  am  going  to  add,  as  a  sort  of  sequel  to  it, 
a  chapter  about  Tom,  because  the  story  of  his 
after-course  seems  to  me  so  interesting.  But  I 
can  only  sketch  it  very  briefly. 


A  LITTLE  MORE  ABOUT  TOM.  363 


CHAPTER  XIX. 

A   LITTLE    MORE    ABOUT   TOM. 

"  It  is  God  that  guideth  me  with  strength,  and  maketh  my  way 
perfect." 

lu 

HAT  Tom  had  begun  he  had  be- 
gun in  earnest.  His  heart  was  set 
steadfastly  toward  a  new  life.  As 
frank  and  unashamed  as  he  had 
been  in  his  ignorance  and  heathen- 
ism, so  was  he  in  his  new  knowledge  and  en- 
trance upon  Christianity.  He  freely  told  his 
companions  what  new  thoughts  and  beliefs  he 
had  ;  and  they  watched  him  with  astonishment, 
yielding  himself  up  with  childlike  docility  to 
his  persuasions.  Most  of  them  considered  him 
under  the  effect  of  an  excitement  that  would 
soon  pass  away.  But  the  victories  he  gained 
over  himself,  the  new  manliness  developed  in 
him  by  the  workings  of  that  Spirit  to  which  he 
had  surrendered  himself,  were  an  undeniable 


364  THE  STORY  OF  CYRIL  RIVERS. 

reality.  His  mind  seemed  almost  suddenly  to 
have  developed  and  matured.  In  the  hope  of 
usefulness,  he  began  to  judge  concerning  his 
own  welfare  as  no  selfish  wisdom  could  have 
taught  him  to  do. 

One  of  his  first  acts  was  to  go  to  Professor 
M'Tafor,  and  confess  how  he  had  gained  that 
prize  a  whole  year  since,  restoring  the  money, 
and  asking  that  the  story  might  be  made  as 
public  as  Cyril's  disgrace  had  been.  For  the 
sake  of  justice,  this  was  reluctantly  done  in  his 
class,  and  among  the  competitors  whom  he  had 
cheated.  But  it  was  the  case,  as  he  had  once 
angrily  declared  it  would  be,  that  his  genuine 
repentance  and  his  confession  saved  him  from 
reproach,  and  won  him  the  free  forgiveness  of 
teachers  and  classmates.  Indeed,  the  kind  feel- 
ing toward  him  among  the  latter  had  pardoned 
his  half-suspected  offense  long  ago. 

It  was  a  more  daring  matter  to  make  the 
same  confession  to  his  father,  and  to  tell  of 
many  other  deceits  and  bad  habits,  of  his  con- 
viction that  he  was  incompetent  to  go  on  with 
his  class,  and  his  desire  to  be  allowed  to  go 


A  LITTLE  MORE  ABOUT  TOM.  365 

back  to  the  one  below.  The  honest,  sorrowful 
letter  in  which  all  this  was  told,  Tom,  as  he 
sent  it  away,  verily  believed  would  withdraw 
him  from  college  at  once,  and  set  him  at  work 
among  Chinamen  and  sailors,  to  oversee  the 
lading  and  unlading  of  his  father's  ships  under 
the  burning  suns  upon  San-Francisco  Bay. 

But  his  father  was  a  shrewd  man,  and,  in 
the  midst  of  anger  and  disappointment,  he  dis- 
covered at  last  the  ring  of  manly  earnestness 
and  sincerity  in  Tom's  strange  letter.  And 
Tom  was  his  only  son,  and  he  could  not  yet 
quite  give  up  his  long-cherished  ambition  with 
regard  to  him.  He  cut  down  Tom's  allowance, 
for  punishment,  and  sent  him  some  angry 
threats,  but  bade  him,  notwithstanding,  go 
into  the  class  below,  as  he  desired,  and  begin 
again. 

Tom  set  himself  to  the  task  with  patience 
and  diligence.  He  had  to  struggle  hard  with 
old  habits  and  depraved  tastes  ;  but  the  strug- 
gle was  not  so  long  nor  so  doubtful  as  might 
have  been  supposed.  New  affections  springing 
up  cast  the  old  into  the  shade,  and,  by  degrees, 


866      ,     THE  STORY  OF  CYRIL  RIVERS. 

withered  their  baneful  life.  The  main  features 
of  Tom's  conversion  were  his  sudden  discovery 
of  God's  reality  and  nearness,  and  his  hope  and 
joyful  confidence  in  that  knowledge.  His 
heavenly  Father  was  not  far  from  him  at  any 
time,  and  was  able  to  bestow  strength.  Tom 
must  hourly  press  closer  to  him  to  receive  it. 
There  was  once  one,  who,  in  his  first  luimble 
prayer,  was  answered,  "  To-day  shalt  thou  be 
with  me  in  paradise."  That  man,  indeed,  was 
then  almost  beyond  the  dominion  of  the  prince 
of  this  world,  beyond  the  reach  of  temptation  ; 
yet  the  change  that  made  him  ready  for  para- 
dise, his  soul's  reception  of  righteousness  from 
Christ,  must  have  been  an  instantaneous 
change.  And  when  we  have  counted  all  our 
hinderances,  from  foes  within  and  foes  without, 
is  there,  then,  sufficient  reason  to  excuse  our 
slow,  hardly  apparent  growth  in  grace  ?  Is  not 
the  true  cause  found  in  our  lingering  unwilling- 
ness to  suffer  the  change  to  be  put  upon  us  ? 
We  hang  back  from  self-surrender,  and 
think  of  our  own  watchfulness  and  self-govern- 
ment as  our  hope  of  holiness.  We  would  be 


A  LITTLE  MORE  ABOUT  TOM.  367 

always  remembering  ourselves,  instead  of  say- 
ing, "  Lord,  remember  me  !  "  We  think  of 
keeping  our  hearts  with  all  diligence,  and  for- 
get that  the  diligence  is  vain  which  aims  only 
to  keep  them  swept  and  garnished,  and  not  to 
have  them  full  of  Christ.  To  be  with  him  in 
paradise  is  to  be  perfectly  safe ;  and  upon  earth 
to  be  much  in  communion  with  him,  the  fore- 
taste of  paradise,  is  our  only  security.  If  we 
had  a  more  continual  consciousness  of  his 
presence  and  help,  we  should  not  find  the 
advantage  over  sin  so  hardly  and  slowly  won. 
Such  a  consciousness  was  given  to  Torn  ;  and, 
while  he  rejoiced  in  it,  it  was  wonderful  how 
he  was  changed. 

In  the  course  of  the  two  following  years, 
from  the  saddest  of  all  sights,  an  indolent, 
unreasoning,  impulse-governed  man,  he  be- 
came thoughtful,  patient,  and  unselfish,  with 
powers  developed  and  under  command,  and 
activities  that  were  awake,  and  in  earnest  to 
improve  himself  and  the  world  ;  and,  at  the  end 
of  those  two  years,  he  had  grown  so  refined  in 
manners,  so  brightened  and  improved  in  looks, 


368  THE  STORY  OF  CYRIL  RIVERS. 

and  was  so  respected  in  reputation,  that  there 
was  no  one  of  Mary  Owens'  friends  to  wonder 
or  regret  when  she  promised  him  her  hand. 

Tom  overcame  his  idle  habits  and  natural 
inaptitude  for  study,  so  as  to  graduate  with  a 
very  good  appointment.  And  at  that  time  his 
father  made  the  journey  all  the  way  from  San 
Francisco,  to  see  his  son  for  the  first  time  upon 
a  public  stage.  The  old  man  looked  about 
upon  the  new  world  of  men  and  tilings  in  this 
Eastern  city,  wise  enough  to  acknowledge  an 
advanced  civilization  in  it  for  all  its  plainness 
and  quietness,  its  want  of  wealth  and  commerce 
and  crowds ;  and  no  words  could  express  the 
satisfaction  and  triumph  with  which  he  com- 
pared his  son  with  the  cultivated  men  among 
whom  he  found  him,  and  perceived  him  able 
to  sustain  the  comparison.  The  success  was 
beyond  all  he  had  hoped.  His  Tom  had  not 
become  the  pretentious,  loud-voiced,  unprin- 
cipled demagogue  that  had  been  once  the 
father's  idea  of  a  politician,  but  something  that 
he  could  understand  was  better  and  more 
effective,  in  proportion  as  it  was  rarer  in  public 


A  LITTLE  MORE  ABOUT  TOM.  369 

life  :  a  man  soundly  instructed,  firmly  principled, 
with  an  enlightened  will  and  an  independent 
judgment,  —  "A  man  that  can  go  alone  !  " 
said  Mr.  Raddon  to  himself  with  delight, —  "  a 

O          ' 

man  that  don't  need  to  be  boosted,  and  can't  be 
tricked !  " 

But  he  never  imagined  how  all  this  had 
come  about.  He  supposed  it  the  result  of  his 
own  liberality  and  shrewdness  in  sending  Tom 
to  college,  together  with  the  youth's  natural 
cleverness  and  goodness.  He  would  have  been 
utterly  astonished  and  unbelieving  if  it  had 
been  told  him  that  One  had  done  more  for  his 
child,  out  of  love  and  infinite  charity,  than  all 
the  teachers  and  the  books  that  money  could 
provide  ;  and  that,  but  for  the  intervention  of 
that  One,  Tom  would  in  all  probability  have 
come  away  from  college  to  be  only  a  shame  and 
disappointment,  perhaps  a  drunkard,  or  an 
indolent,  vice-crippled  wreck  of  manhood,  in 
whom  neither  threats  nor  promises  could  have 
awakened  again  the  feeblest  impulse  of  energy 
or  ambition.  So  the  old  man  went  about  boast- 
ing, thanking  his  gods,  —  his  money  and  him- 

24 


370  THE  STORY  OF  CYRIL  RIVERS. 

self,  —  and  never  thought  of  the  Giver  of  all, 
who  was  so  patient  with  his  ignorance. 

Nevertheless,  there  was  something  very 
touching  in  the  father's  perfect  pleasure,  as  he 
sat  in  the  commencement-hall,  and  listened  to 
Tom's  speech.  When  it  was  through,  and 
Tom  was  speeded  off  the  stage  with  the 
customary  round  of  applause  from  his  friends, 
the  old  man  looked  about,  his  face  radiant  with 
pride  and  satisfaction,  and  actually  bowed  his 
thanks  to  the  people  around  him,  as  if  the 
tribute  had  been  bestowed  upon  himself.  He 
was  as  proud  of  Tom's  engagement,  too,  as  of 
his  other  achievements.  Even  old  Ruel  Rad- 
don  could  believe  that  this  young  lady  was  one 
not  to  be  bought  with  money :  so  that  Tom's 
winning  her  —  such  a  genuine  lady,  educated, 
refined,  and  pretty  enough  to  be  an  earl's 
daughter  —  was  in  itself  another  proof  of  his 
superiority. 

You  will  understand  that  his  father's  visit 
must  have  been  a  little  trying  to  Tom  in  the 
first  flush  of  his  triumph  in  his  engagement  and 
his  graduation.  It  can  not  be  denied  that  the 


A  LITTLE  MORE  ABOUT  TOM.  871 

old  man's  red  face,  the  gaudy  dress  he  had 
provided  himself,  the  ungrammatical  and  boast- 
ful style  of  his  conversation,  and  his  constant 
recourse  to  ardent  spirits  for  stimulus,  disturbed 
Tom  in  presenting  his  father  among  new 
friends  of  such  a  different  style.  But  Tom  was 
too  warm-hearted  and  honest  to  let  any  such 
false  shame  trouble  him  much ;  and  his  feelings 
of  annoyance  were  soon  forgotten  in  serious 
regret,  because  his  father  was  so  far  from  him 
in  the  things  that  made  the  light  and  fullness  of 
his  life.  Tom  began  to  see  the  work  that  lay 
before  him  more  plainly  now.  He  had  resolved 
to  study  law,  and  begin  practicing  in  his  native 
place  in  accordance  with  the  old  plan.  But 
how  differently  now  he  looked  upon  that  plan  ! 
It  was  no  more  to  his  view  an  idler's  scheme 
for  cheating  and  bribing  his  way  into  office, 
pandering  to  corrupt  party  interests :  it  was  to 
be  an  honest  man's  path  of  industrious  service 
to  God  and  his  generation.  In  a  city  full  of 
men  like  his  father,  and  worse,  he  was  to  advo- 
cate truth  and  right,  in  spite  of  all  inducements 
to  knavery ;  publicly  and  privately,  he  was  to 


372  THE  STORY  OF  CYRIL  RIVERS. 

stand  up  for  principle  in  the  fear  of  God,  and 
to  promote;  with  all  his  influence,  the  causes  of 
justice  and  purity  and  religion. 

It  was  not  till  he  had  fairly  entered  upon  his 
work,  that  his  father  found  out  all  the  diversity 
of  intentions  between  them.  The  old  man's 
first  idea  was  to  push  Tom  into  public  favor  by 
every  means,  fair  and  foul.  To  his  dismay,  he 
found  an  insuperable  obstacle  to  such  proceed- 
ings in  Tom  himself.  A  man  who  would  not 
say  what  he  did  not  believe  ;  who  would  not 
slander  either  a  party  or  an  individual  for  his 
own  advancement ;  a  man  who  would  not 
advocate  a  wrong  measure,  however  popular ;  a 
man  who  fought  the  dearest  vices  of  the  com- 
munity, with  law  or  without  law,  stirring  up  by 
his  merciful  endeavors  the  wrath  and  hatred  of 
all  its  profligates ;  a  man  who  would  be  always 
remembering  the  very  pariahs  of  the  city,  vex- 
ing himself  for  their  wrongs,  degrading  himself 
with  openly-expressed  concern  for  despised 
foreigners,  their  ignorance  and  abuse,  — judge 
of  old  Ruel  Raddon's  dismay,  when  he  began 
to  find  such  a  man  in  his  own  son  ! 


A   LITTLE  MORE  ABOUT  TOM.  373 

He  had  long  known  of  Tom's  religion,  and 
had  acquiesced  in  it  as  something,  that,  in  some 
indefinite  way,  as  Greek  or  Latin  or  poetry  had 
done,  had  tended  to  make  him  a  gentleman,  — 
something  that  was  a  part  of  the  intelligence 
and  refinement  that  made  him  superior.  As  a 
thing  of  that  description,  he  had  no  objection 
to  it ;  but  when  he  discovered  it  to  be  some- 
thing that  led  the  young  man  to  sacrifice  profit 
to  principle,  when  he  saw  Tom,  for  its  sake, 
running  counter  to  current  opinion,  exciting 
hostile  remark,  growing  decidedly  unpopular, 
the  old  man  began  to  be  very  angry.  He 
tried  in  vain  persuasions  and  remonstrances, 
threats  and  sneers.  The  young  man  was 
sorely  tried;  but  he  persisted  in  his  course. 
For  months  at  a  time,  his  father's  anger 
would  be  so  hot  against  him,  that  he  could  not 
speak  peaceably  to  him,  and  often  he  would  not 
speak  to  him  at  all.  But  these  quarrels  were 
kept  close  between  them.  It  was  a  curious 
thing  that  the  father's  jealousy  for  his  son's 
welfare  was  yet  so  strong,  that,  while  he  re- 
proached him  at  home,  he  upheld  him  abroad, 


374  THE  STORY  OF  CYRIL  RIVERS. 

always  defended  him  with  shrewdness  and 
vehemence. 

It  was  years  before  the  difference,  so  trying 
to  the  souls  of  both,  was  ended.  But  at  last 
old  Mr.  Raddon,  finding  opposition  useless, 
began  in  his  secret  soul  to  acknowledge  the 
beauty  and  the  goodness  of  his  son's  course. 
His  thoughts  toward  him  grew  lenient.  By 
degrees,  Tom's  opinions  were  tolerated,  then 
approved,  at  last  adopted  with  unbounded 
admiration.  Moreover,  the  old  man  found 
himself  not  alone  in  this  change.  Tom  had 
made  progress  in  winning  the  hearts  and  en- 
lightening the  consciences  of  other  men,  by  his 
integrity,  his  earnestness,  and  his  benevolence. 
He  had  made  the  party  and  the  public  opinion 
to  sustain  him.  His  father  lived  to  see  him  an 
honored  and  successful  man,  and,  leaning  upon 
his  son  in  perfect  trust  as  he  went  down  toward 
the  dark  valley  of  the  shadow  of  death,  was 
willing  at  last  to  receive  the  faith  that  had 
been  to  Tom  salvation. 

Thus  I  have  briefly  sketched  Tom's  career, 
to  show  how  it  was  affected  by  what  befell  him 


A  LITTLE  MORE  ABOUT  TOM.  375 

in  college.  Ah  !  if  there  were  more  as  fortu- 
nate as  he  in  the  years  of  seedtime.  But  I  will 
not  write  that  sigh  despondingly ;  for  the  free 
grace  and  loving-kindness  of  God  are  ever 
abundant,  and  his  providence  is  favorable  to 
every  soul.  And  then  the  Church  of  God,  I 
know,  has  always  that  cause  of  thankfulness 
for  you,  young  people,  with  which  St.  Paul 
rejoiced  over  Timothy:  "T  thank  Grod,  that, 
without  ceasing,  I  have  remembrance  of  ihee  in 
my  prayers  night  and  day" 


Warren  and  JBlakeske,  Publishers,  Boston. 


THE  SUNDAY-SCHOOL  COMMENTARY. 


THE  NEW  TESTAMENT; 

WITH  NOTES,  PICTORIAL  ILLUSTRATIONS, 
AND  REFERENCES. 

BY  REV.  ISRAEL  P.  WARREN,  D.  D. 

The  first  volume  of  this  work  embraces  the  Gospels  and  Acts  of  the  Apos- 
tles. It  is  designed  to  be  a  concise  yet  complete  commentary,  exhibiting 
the  results  of  the  best  and  most  recent  biblical  scholarship,  as  given  by 
Alford,  Lange,  Olshausen,  Tholuck,  Trench,  Stuart,  Robinson,  Hackett, 
and  others.  The  notes  are  both  explanatory  and  practical 

The  text  of  the  Gospels  in  divided  into  sections  numbered  to  correspond 
to  a  Chronological  Harmony  given  in  tabular  form.  An  Alphabetical  In- 
dex is  appended,  by  which  the  leading  events  and  topics  can  be  referred  to 
without  the  aid  of  a  Concordance. 

Numerous  pictorial  illustrations  are  given,  chiefly  of  eastern  customs  and 
places.  Also  three  maps  :  i  Colored  Map  of  Palestine :  2.  The  Sea  of 
Galilee  and  the  surrounding  Region :  3.  The  missionary  journeys  of  the 
apostle  Paul. 

The  first  volume  is  complete  in  itself,  and  is  now  ready.  The  second 
is  in  course  of  preparation. 

The  fact  that  this  work  was  first  published  by  the  American  Tract  Soci- 
ety (Boston)  is  a  sufficient  guaranty  of  its  merit  and  its  theological  sound- 
ness. 

It  is  believed  to  be  one  of  the  most  convenient,  complete,  and  inexpensive 
aids  in  family  and  Sabbath-school  instruction  to  be  found. 

The  work  is  printed  in  two  editions,  one  on  plain  paper  ($1.50),  the  other 
on  heavy  tinted  paper,  extra  size,  full  gilt  (3.00).  A  liberal  discount  made 
to  the  trade. 

1 


Warren  and  Blakeske,  Publishers,  Boston. 

Testimonies  of  EMINENT  CLERGYMEN  to  Dr. 
Warren's  Sunday-School  Commentary  on  the 
New  Testament. 

Rev.  E.  N.  KIRK,  D.  D. 

"  I  am  witness  to  the  fidelity  and  diligence,  the  scrupulous  care  'and 
sense  of  responsibility  of  the  author,  in  preparing  a  popular  exposition  of 
the  four  Gospels.  Others  have  labored  in  the  same  field,  none,  I  believe, 
with  greater  advantages  or  success  than  he.  The  degree  of  examination 
I  have  given  to  the  work  authorizes  me  to  join  with  my  brethren  in  com- 
mending it  to  the  confidence  of  the  churches.  Without  denominational 
bias,  it  is  true  to  the  doctrinal  teachings  of  our  common  Christianity." 

REV.  N.  ADAMS,  D.  D. 

"  It  is  one  of  the  most  perfectly  made  books  I  ever  saw.  Externally,  its 
shape  and  binding  are  all  that  one  could  desire,  and  within,  it  bears  the 
marks  of  superior  editorial  ability  and  good  taste.  The  notes  show  careful 
research,  good  judgment,  power  of  condensation,  tact,  and,  it  seems  to  me, 
will  generally  commend  themselves  to  impartial  readers.  I  especially  like 
the  practical  thoughts.  Viewed  as  a  reprint  of  the  New  Testament  text, 
it  is  a  convenient  and  pleasant  volume  to  handle  and  to  use  in  common 
reading,  as  well  as  for  critical  purposes." 

REV.  E.  B.  WEBB,  D.  D. 

"  The  Commentary  is  in  sympathy  with  the  text.  It  is  all  laconic,  con- 
densed, and  yet  not  barren,  for  often  a  great  deal  of  critical  information 
and  the  result  of  extensive  reading  is  packed  away  in  a  single  line.  There 
is  no  prolix  discussion  of  any  thing,  but  often  great  force  and  energy  in  a 
single  practical  reflection,  and  every  now  and  then  a  happy  turn  of  good 
common  sense  in  paralyzing  an  objection  that  can  not  be  removed.  It 
seems  to  me  now  that  this  Commentary  will  have  a  place  and  meet  a  want 
beyond  what  has  been  anticipated." 

REV.  WM.  HAGUE,  D.  D. 

"lam  free  to  express  my  high  appreciation  of  the  scholarly  diligence, 
discrimination  and  power  of  condensed  statement,  which  the  work  exhibits 
from  the  beginning  to  the  end.  Distinguished  by  these  qualities  in  a  hijrli 
decree,  and  complete  in  one  volume,  it  is  well  suited  to  meet  a  want  that  is 
widely  felt.  At  the  same  time,  the  justness,  aptness,  and  often  the  logical 
connection  of  the  'practical  thoughts,'  render  the  book  eminently  sug- 
gestive, and  enhance  its  value  as  an  aid  to  the  Sunday-school  teacher." 

REV.  WM.  LAMSON,  D.  D. 

"The  mechanical  execution  is  admirable.  The  paper,  type  and  illus- 
trations all  give  the  eye  pleasure.  The  notes,  too,  as  far  as  we  have  exam- 
ined them,  are  judicious  and  clear,  and  the  practical  thoughts  at  the  close 
of  the  chapters  are  natural  and  pertinent.  There  is  a  great  deal  of  con- 
densed information  in  the  volume." 


Warren  and  Blakeslce,  Publishers,  Boston. 

Noticesl^y  the  PRESS  of  Dr.  Warren's  Sun- 
day-school Commentary  on  the  New  Testament. 

THE  BOSTON  JOURNAL. 

It  is  in  the  best  style  of  the  book-making  art.  Its  notes  are  brief,  for  the 
most  part  condensed  and  apposite.  They  evince  high  scholarship,  excel- 
lent judgment,  and  a  correct  ideal  of  what  such  a  work  should  be.  The 
page  is  exceedingly  grateful  to  the  eye,  the  catch-words  are  in  larger  type 
than  the  notes,  and  the  illustrations,  maps,  &c. ,  are  very  neatly  done.  It  is 
one  of  the  finest  works  of  the  kind  with  which  we  are  acquainted,  and  will 
be  an  invaluable  aid  to  s  tudents  of  the  Bible  and  Sabbath-school  teachers. 

THE  CONGREGATIONAL  QUARTERLY. 

"Common  sense,  eminent  scholarship,  persevering  industry,  and  a  deep 
love  of  truth,  and  every  other  good  quality  of  mind  and  heart,  have  been 
employed  in  explaining  the  great  truths  of  revelation.  The  volume  before 
us  is  beautifully  printed  and  illustrated  on  fine,  tinted  paper,  and  contains 
the  best  efforts  of  the  writer  in  making  plain,  in  a  few  words,  what  might  be 
obscure  to  the  uneducated.  The  '  practical  thoughts '  '  will  be  found  very 
useful  and  suggestive." 

THE  ADVANCE. 

"The  author  has  condensed  a  large  amount  of  information  into  his  prefa- 
tory Chronological  Harmony,  introductions  to  the  several  books,  foot-notes, 
and  practical  thoughts.  He  has  made  free  use  of  the  best  critical  works  of 
modern  scholars.  A  convenient  index  of  subjects  is  appended.  The  typo- 
graphy and  binding  are  very  attractive." 

THE  MORNING  STAR. 

"  Convenient  in  form,  attractive  in  appearance,  and  presenting  the  results 
of  labored  investigations  so  that  they  may  be  comprehended  at  a  glance,  the 
work  is  in  every  way  adapted  for  use  in  family  devotions  and  the  Sabbath- 
school,  and  meets  a  long  existing  want." 

THE  PRESBYTERIAN. 

"  The  conclusions  of  the  latest  and  best  Biblical  scholars  are  given  con- 
cisely but  clearly.  We  most  heartily  commend  the  style  in  which  the  book 
is  produced." 

THE  AMERICAN  PRESBYTERIAN. 

"An  admirably-contrived  apparatus  for  facilitating  the  study  of  the 
Scriptures." 

THE  S.  S.  TIMES. 

"The  notes  are  models  of  brevity  and  point.  Sound  judgment  seems  to 
have  been  exercised  as  to  the  subjects  for  comment.  The  cuts  and  maps 
are  beautifully  executed.  The  book  is  a  marvel  of  beauty  in  its  typographi- 
cal arrangements  and  execution.  We  should  think  this  Testament  would  be 
admirably  suited  for  family  reading." 

THE  WATCHMAN  AND  REFLECTOR. 

"We  know  of  no  similar  work  that  approaches  it  for  compactness  of 
thought,  clearness  of  exposition,  and  brevity  of  expression.  We  are  sur- 
prised at  the  cleverness  which  compresses  so  mnch  in  so  little  space.  For 
the  family,  for  private  reading,  and  for  S.  S.  teachers,  the  work  will  be  .a 
valuable  hand-book  on  the  gospels." 

3 


Warren  and  Blakcslce,  Publishers,  Boston. 

Specimens  of  the  illustrations  cf  Dr.  War- 
ren's Sunday-School  Commentary  on  the  New 
Testament. 


POOL  OF  SI  LOAM. 


1  CANDLESTICK. 


THE  SICK   MAN    LET   DOWN   THROUGH   THE  ROOF. 

4 


Warren  and  Blakeslee,  Publishers ^  Boston. 

_._    .      r  _,      _  ___  .  _  ^y 

THE  STORY  OF  WILLIAM  THE  SILENT 
and  the  Netherland  War.  By  Mary  Barrett. 
Large  i6mo.  pp.  480.  $1.50. 

This  is  a  graphic  chapter  in  the  history  of  thebloody  war  waged  against  the 
Huguenots  in  Holland  by  Philip  II.  of  Spain.  It  is  a  book  of  great  inter- 
est and  value,  not  only  as  depicting  the  sufferings  endured  for  the  sake  of  a 
pure  faith,  but  as  showing  us  from  what  stock  the  Dutch  emigrants  came, 
who,  with  the  Pilgrim  fathers  of  New  England,  were  the  earliest  settlers  ir/ 
this  country.  It  contains  a  portrait  of  Prince  William  from  an  ancient  Eng-. 
lish  engraving,  and  several  maps  and  plans,  including  a  bird's-eye  view  of 
Leyden  at  the  time  of  its  memorable  siege. 

It  is  eminently  suited  to  the  advanced  classes  in  Sabbath  schools,  as  well 
as  for  general  reading. 


LITTLE  FLOY.     Square  i6mo.  pp.  76. 

A  charming  little  book,  showing  the  sweetness  of  a  child's  faith  and  piety, 
making  her  the  sunbeam  in  a  happy  home. 


THE  BOAT-BUILDER'S  FAMILY  ;  or,  Good  Re- 
solutions and  how  to  keep  them.  i6mo.  pp.  224. 
$1.25.  Illustrated. 

A  narrative  of  the  reformation  of  a  family  from  intemperance  and  kindred 
vices,  under  the  power  of  religion.  It  shows  the  sufficiency  there  is  in 
Christ  to  uphold  those  who  come  to  him  in  their  conscious  weaknes  and 
ruin. 


BILL  RIGGS,  JR.     By  Olive  A.  Wadsworth. 
i6mo.  pp.  1 86.  QOcts.  Illustrated. 

A  touching  story  of  the  efforts  of  a  motherless  boy  to  care  for  his  little 
brothers  and  his  intemperate  father.  It  gives  an  interesting  view  of  the 
condition  of  the  lower  classes  in  the  city,  and  of  what  may  be  done  for  their 
improvement. 

Both  the  above  are  excellent  temperance  books. 
5 


Warren  and  Blakeslee,  Publishers,  Boston. 

THE  NEW  COMMANDMENT  ;  or,  Ella's  Minis- 
try. By  Miss  Jennie  R.  Shaw.  Large  i6mo. 
pp.  376.  Three  illustrations  from  drawings  by 
Billings.  $1.50 

Ella's  Ministry  in  her  uncle's  large  family  beautifully  illustrates  the  power 
of  the  "  New  Commandment "  to  sooth  the  turmoils  of  domestic  life  and 
make  home  happy.  The  story  is  exceedingly  attractive  and  interesting,  and 
can  not  fail  to  cultivate  a  loving  spirit  in  all  who  read  it 


DARKNESS  TO  LIGHT  ;  or,  a  Christmas  Carol, 
and  what  came  of  it.      iSmo.  pp.  103.  60  cts. 

Story  of  a  family  ruined  by  intemperance,  but  recovered  to  respectability 
and  happiness  by  religion. 


STORIES  FROM  THE  MOORLAND.  By  Miss 
Lizzie  Bates.  i6mo.  pp.  236.  $1.25.  Three 
illustrations. 

These  are  tales  of  the  Covenanters  of  Scotland  amid  the  persecutions 
inflicted  upon  them  by  Claverhouse  and  his  dragoons.  They  display  the 
power  of  Christian  faith  to  sustain  the  soui  in  the  darkest  hours,  and  relate 
many  remarkable  interpositions  of  Providence  for  the  deliverance  and  pro- 
tection of  his  people.  The  book  is  full  of  interesting  incident  and  anecdote. 


A  SUMMER  IN  THE  COUNTRY  ;  or,  What  do 
ye  more  than  others  ?  By  Mrs.  M.  E.  Bradley. 
i8mo.  pp.  121.  70  cts.  Two  Illustrations. 

An  illustration  of  Christian  faithfulness  in  a  young  lady  amid  the  worldli- 
ness  and  dissipation  of  a  fashionable  summer  boarding-house. 


A     000  055  494     9 


ill 

;^; 


His 


